


The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by Avierra



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avierra/pseuds/Avierra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Continuation of <a href="http://avierra.livejournal.com/25621.html">Maelstrom</a>. Many thanks to <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/"><b>freeradical9</b></a> for all her help and insightful comments, and a yeoman's job as beta for this little project.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. The Devil And the Deep Blue Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Continuation of [Maelstrom](http://avierra.livejournal.com/25621.html). Many thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/profile)[**freeradical9**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/) for all her help and insightful comments, and a yeoman's job as beta for this little project.

**Part 1: Scylla and Charybdis**

I had been on the island of Bermuda for a mere six months or so, and I never thought I'd have hated a single place in my life as much as I hated this wretched island. I walked swiftly down the filthy, muddy waterfront streets, dodging the throngs of grimy children shrieking and racing down the lane beside me. "_Dia duit! Nicolás Galloglach! Dia duit!_" they called out cheerfully, waving as they rushed past me.

_Nicolás Galloglach_, I thought, bemused. I still wasn't used to that. It had been a long time since anyone called me anything other than "Nicholas Gallowglass," and almost as long since I had spoken Gaeilge on a regular basis.

_"Dia duit,_" I muttered balefully, evading the little brats as I walked on. "God to you. Feh."

God had precious little to do with the people and places down here. Or the other side of town either, where I was going. I absently sidestepped a puddle of stinking, fetid water, briefly considering why I was even out at this time of day.

And it was because -- even though I hadn't talked with or even seen William in weeks -- I had been extended a sudden, unexpected invitation to visit Captain Scarcliff in his family's oh-so-palatial house on the outskirts of town.

I knew exactly why I hadn't seen William, of course. All I had to do was look around, see how people lived down here, in their own filth and poverty, the pigs and dogs running loose and shitting and pissing in the street. The people too, sometimes. Some of these fine folks sat aimlessly on the front porches of their hovels, smoking a pipe and rocking in their chairs and waving to passersby instead of doing an honest day's work; the children ran amok with nothing to fill their minds, unsupervised and unchecked, muck and mud staining their bodies and clothing.

I would despise these Irish people too, if I were William… I did in fact despise them.

But not as much as I despised myself. I wasn't any better than they were, was I? A down-at-luck mercenary stuck on a hellhole of an island, trying to save up enough money so I could take my leave and bid a not-so-fond farewell to this hellhole. My Da had told me once that pride was an expensive luxury, and I supposed it was true.

And the worst of it was that Bermuda wasn't even the worst place in the provinces for the Irish to live. Barbados had that sad and sorry distinction. I couldn't even bear to re-visit there; misery seemed to taint the very air one breathed. I did understand how things were, and at least the Irish couldn't really help what they were, most of them. Some of the older ones had been kidnapped by Cromwell and his soldiers and sold as slaves to the planters and shipbuilders here and in the West Indies. Many of the younger ones were indentured servants who never quite managed to work off their contracts. There weren't supposed to be any Irish servants or African slaves brought into Bermuda anymore, but importing Irish indentured servants was so much fucking cheaper than obtaining slaves from elsewhere. And as always, convenience trumped legalities.

There had been an uprising of Irish and African slaves some years back, and well, apparently the English landowners on the island had long memories and had taken it very much to heart. But the idea of it made me smile a bit: it seemed like _those_ slaves, "indentured servants" -- whatever they were -- hadn't forgotten who they were. They had dreams and a purpose, and dared to hope for a better life. Sometimes I wondered what had happened to so crush the spirits of the Irish here. I knew that some of the people settled comfortably and aimlessly on their stoops were probably among those who had fought back. I couldn't wrap my mind around it, and I was so tired of trying. And so.

And so, here I was, leaving the comfort and familiarity of Mistress Gráinne Ní Mháille's tavern to trudge over hill and dale and across the very English town of Saint George to see William.

To be sure, I had thought that whatever had been between the two of us was over. Our last meeting had been… unpleasant... for both of us, and after we had parted ways then, William had stopped inviting me to visit, and _of course_ William couldn't (wouldn't) come see me, not down in the Irish and African tenements and hovels, where his beautiful silver-buckled shoes would grow waterlogged and his exquisitely clocked silk stockings would become splattered with mud and shit. I couldn't blame William for not wanting to come down there. _I_ didn't want to come down here. Except I did blame him, of course. How could I not?

The end of our... whatever it was… was probably a relief to the both of us, actually, now I was forced to think about it.

I think it had come as something of a shock to William, how very much his friends had disliked me. I could have told him they would, but he is never really one to listen when he thinks he knows better. I didn't like that there was friction. I would never have wanted to come between William and his friends; some of them were people he had known since he was a child. He claimed he didn't care, that if that was how they were, they were no friends of his and he was better off without that type of person in his life. William has a gift for ruthlessness when it is necessary, but it still rather appalled me that he cut them out without so much as a backwards glance. I didn't ask him to do so, or even hint at it, but it isn't as if anyone would ever believe that.

And so, without me around to exercise my evil Papist Irish wiles on innocent young William Scarcliff, there was no need to pretend that his friends would ever accept me. In turn, I didn't have to pretend that I didn't want to rip William's friends' hearts out and shove them down their fucking throats while they were still beating. After all, I was only a fucking stupid bogtrotter who couldn't _possibly_ be expected to understand when I was being subtly insulted.

Maybe the stress and pressure of all that had simply gotten to be too much for William. I know it had gotten to be too much for me. Though when I thought about it – and the Saints know how hard I tried not to think about it – there was a large part of me that silently howled at the fact that William was no longer a part of my life.

But you may well believe it that no one appreciates more than I do that sometimes things didn't work out the way they should, and at least when it had been good with us, it had been very good.

For the most part, I was mostly just confused as to why I was hearing from William now. The invitation had been couched in terms of friendship and amiability, and that was a bit confusing on the face of it: some rather harsh words had been exchanged at our last meeting. In fact, I wasn't at all that sure I felt either friendly or amiable, especially towards William, but I did feel wary. I had learned in our brief association that William rarely did things without purpose or in a fit of whimsy; sometimes I thought that William was incapable of doing anything without meticulously planning for any and every eventuality. Living like that would utterly paralyze most people, and it was one of the things about William that I would probably never quite understand.

It was odd how he had sent that invitation too, personally hand-delivered to me by one of the Scarcliff family's army of footmen, as if he wanted to make absolutely sure that I received it. The poor fellow had stood there in my room at Gráinne's tavern while I read it, waiting for my response so he could get the hell away from the huts and hovels of the Waterfront. He stood out like some sort of exotic bird in a flock of starlings, and I did feel for him. After I read it, I thought about it for a bit, and I didn't have it in me to answer. I didn't know what to say, or what the hell William meant by it. So I told that poor kid that I had to think about it for a bit, and that I would send a runner back with my answer. He looked at me as if I had thrown him into a pit of lions, but he touched his hat anyway, and left me, just as polite as you please.

It took me a few days of going back and forth to reach a decision. I wasn't sure I wanted to get tangled up in all that again. And more to the point, there really _was_ no point.

William and I had stayed together for a couple of months after we reached Bermuda. Money hadn't been an issue at that point, although it was a blow to my pride to have to rely on him for everything. He had returned my sword, but my clothes and money were long gone, divided up as booty amongst the crew. He had given me new clothes to replace those that were gone, and of course William himself certainly didn't want for funds. It was nothing to him, but everything to me. Even now I still don't think he ever really understood that.

After we parted, I drank myself sick for a week or so, and then looked about for a job. I had been fooling myself about how easy it would be to get one. No English captain would hire me for any position, and no planter would either – not that I particularly wanted to work chopping trees or trying to farm Bermuda's shitty land. And what I don't know about shipbuilding could fill a book. I didn't wish to do so, but I had nearly convinced myself that my only option was to indenture myself and go to the provinces. A man has to make a living, and it appeared to me that selling myself was the only way I had left.

But then one of those things happened that you look back and wonder about.

My favorite place to drown my sorrows was The King's Ransom, owned and run by Mistress Gráinne Ní Mháille. The name of the tavern being her idea of a little joke. At any rate, I had been drinking, and sitting back and thinking, and trying to nerve myself up to go to the docks the next day to sell my indenture to one of the captains there, when some drunken Dutch sailor bastard up and struck her full on the face with his fist, claiming she cheated him on his reckoning.

Now here's thing. Gráinne is one of the fiercest women I know. She's smart and strong, and she doesn't take foolishness from any man alive. But she's also tiny and delicate, and she went flying and landed in a little crumpled heap of disordered calico shawls and cotton skirts. I was up and out of my chair before I even knew it, and after he dropped -- and I made sure it hurt him just a very little bit before he went down, the bastard – I checked on her, and helped her to her feet. No one else had even stirred it had all happened so fast.

And so she and I got to talking while I helped her out that night, and I explained my dilemma. So she thought on it for a bit, and offered me room and board, as long as I would help her out around the place: help with serving, and cleaning and so on. As she explained it, she was getting on in years and taking care of it all wasn't so easy as it used to be, but you couldn't prove it by me. She didn't have a line on her face, her fingers were straight and slim, and her voice was clear and strong. But she pointed out that I could stay there and save for passage west off the island and not have to sell my indenture.

It meant staying around Bermuda a while longer, and that was troublesome, but I would still own myself. So I held cool cloths to the bruise on her face and thanked her for her offer. I felt like kissing her feet.

So. I had a plan, finally, and a solution to all my problems. And William wasn't a part of any of it.

I really hadn't though I would hear from him again. I reckoned that William had had what he wanted of me and moved on. It's just the way of things, and I understand that.

And yet, William had sent that messenger, and I had promised a response, and if nothing else, I try to be a man of my word. I dropped a coin on one of the urchins running around and told him to deliver my response -- which was perfectly civil, mind you -- to the Scarcliff's home. If William wanted to see me for some reason, then I would go. Of course I would.

**

 

The Scarcliff family's African butler greeted me at the door. I remember how shocked I had been the first time I had visited; it had never occurred to me that William's family would keep slaves. All the major families did; I didn't know why I had thought that the Scarcliffs would be different. William's family was very well-off indeed: his father was a renowned and influential landowner and sea captain, and his mother was some nabob's daughter from Barbados, and I knew it was just a part of their lives. But a part of me died every time I was served or waited upon by those dark, silent presences. If it came right down to it, that was a large part of why I hated Bermuda. I've never understood how supposedly righteous Christian people could happily live their lives knowing they had stolen away the life of another person. I supposed I was naïve; I had seen slaves in France and Spain, of course. It hadn't been that way in Ireland, and it was something to which I have never grown accustomed, in all my travels.

I was ushered to the drawing room, and as I stood in the doorway waiting to be announced _of fucking course_ the first thing I heard as I stood there was a drawling male voice complaining bitterly about the vagabonds and other assorted eyesores in the lower town (with a strong notion to bringing up the subject in the next landholders meeting), and then a woman's raised in teasing inquiry about William's own "little Irish problem."

There was a murmur of annoyed feminine dissent from William's mother, and I heard William patiently say to someone I couldn't quite see, "You know, Aunt Elizabeth, Nicholas is the youngest son of the Baron of Killclary. I wouldn't describe him as a problem of any kind, least of all, my problem."

I saw white then, and my blood turned to ice and fire. My fists clenched so tight I thought my knuckles would burst, but I couldn't help it, I started to laugh at the same time the silently embarrassed butler delivered the oh-so-proper-and-dignified announcement of my arrival. William whirled around then, his pale, pretty face horrified and dismayed, his dark green eyes wide and startled. I should have turned around and walked out, I knew that, and yet the largest part of me forced me to stay and watch it play out, like attending one of those farces that are just too dreadful to leave. And I supposed that if my laughter sounded a trifle bitter, well William least of anyone there had reason to complain of that.

**

 

I didn't know what I had expected. But of course Nicholas could _absolutely_ be trusted to turn up at the worst time possible, and really, I should have expected that, should have planned for it. I hadn't been sure he would come, and he hadn't sent word accepting my invitation to dinner, but if nothing else, Nicholas was predictable in his unpredictability, and I should have taken that into account. Maybe next time I would, if there ever was a next time. I silently damned myself for my lack of forethought; damned my cousin for his stupid, ill-bred prejudices and his equally stupid and ill-bred tongue; and damned my aunt for her idiocy and archly "amusing" commentary.

She and my cousin weren't even supposed to be there at all; they had invited themselves for an afternoon visit with an eye to staying for dinner, and even my mother was unable to politely get rid of her and her lackwit son. Both my mother's and my aunt's strategic and tactical abilities were worthy of the highest military honors, and at any other time I would have been amused enough to watch the sorties and flanking maneuvers between the two sisters. But not tonight.

I managed to greet Nicholas pleasantly, but it was quite difficult to see Nicholas regarding me with such scorn, and I could hardly bear to meet those sardonic eyes. Even so, something in me wanted so badly to reach out, to touch Nicholas, to tell him that I wasn't like my idiot relatives. I knew that whatever he had overheard had reinforced the opinions he held about me. I wanted to tell Nicholas that I hadn't intended for him to be subjected to derision and mockery, a subject that I knew chafed him raw, even though he rarely showed it. I _would_ tell him. I rose to take his hand and welcome him into the room, but Nicholas moved away from me and ignored my greeting, and bowed elegantly over my mother's hand, for all intents and purposes a perfect gentleman.

I could sometimes tell from Nicholas' expression at least some of what he was thinking, and although the rest of the people present probably thought Nicholas was more or less like any other young man about town, I knew better. Nicholas was an unpredictable, volatile grenade at the best of times, one that might possibly explode in your hand without notice, and he sometimes required careful handling to avoid setting him off. But it was too late for that now. Right now Nicholas was primed and his fuse was well and truly lit.

"Mistress Scarcliff, it has been some time since I last beheld you, so very charmed, I am sure." I myself wasn't sure of any such thing, actually, as I watched Nicholas lightly kiss the back of my mother's hand and utter meaningless platitudes in the most dulcet of tones. Nicholas and my mother had always gotten on well, which rather astonished me. My mother was a bit of a snob and she and Nicholas had very little in common, but they actually seemed to like each other. Nicholas' voice was steady too, and that really surprised me, because I could tell that Nicholas was absolutely furious. I frowned, watching the social situation begin to spin out of control, but unsure what to do to remedy matters. I looked to my mother for help, but she seemed utterly oblivious to the certain disaster I saw brewing.

"Captain Scarcliff," Nicholas murmured sweetly, turning to my father and bowing oh-so-respectfully, his rather jauntily-trimmed hat tucked beneath his arm. "What a very great pleasure it is to visit with you today." I drew a sharp breath. Nicholas didn't have a respectful bone in his body, and now I _knew_ that Nicholas was mocking me, mocking all of us. But really, that was rather... entertaining, now that I thought about it. The corner of my mouth twitched up, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to maintain a suitably earnest demeanor.

"Ah, and William. How _good_ it is to see you again. It has been some time, has it not? Ah well, I daresay the minutes fly, when one is as busy as I am sure you are." Nicholas smiled glitteringly, and shook loose strands of near-crimson hair back from his face. He never could tie his queue properly.

Two could play at that game. I returned Nicholas' smile. "Quite so, my dear Nicholas, quite so." Nicholas' smile froze, and I felt a brief pang of remorse, but really, if one was going to engage in verbal fencing, one should be prepared for a hit or two. I strongly suspected that I could keep this up for far longer than Nicholas. I handed Nicholas a glass of whiskey. "I knew I could rely on your patience and understanding."

Nicholas' exotic eyes grew shuttered and he drank down the whiskey in a gulp. "Quite, William." He regarded his now-empty glass with fell intent, as if his stare alone would melt it into slag. "Ah, how pleasant. Do I detect a hint of smoke and peat in the whiskey? Almost like being home, it is. Tax- and duty-free too, I'll wager, knowing the…excellence… of your sense of business." He placed his glass on the fireplace mantle.

The four other people in the room were looking back and forth between Nicholas and I with a mixture and bewilderment and surprise, able to detect deeply running currents, but unable to fathom them. I abruptly decided to get the two of us away from the rest of the company before either of us said something truly outrageous.

Before Nicholas could say another word, I murmured, "Excuse us please, I have the most urgent of business to discuss with Nicholas. Mother, Father." I bowed politely to my parents and grabbed Nicholas by the elbow and more or less dragged him along behind me, down the hall, and into the family's library, closing and locking the door.

Nicholas gave a cursory glance at the walls filled with books and scrolls and all sorts of odd items from various voyages of my father, and then he jerked his arm free of my grasp and swung back and away, regarding me stonily. "How _dare_ you tell anyone here about my father?" He gave my shoulder a hard shove, and I staggered back a couple of steps, unprepared for the blow.

There has always been a darkest part of me that takes joy and pleasure… in anger, in rage, in conquest, in taking no prisoners and enforcing my will upon others. I keep it under control and hidden, always, but I felt it stir then.

"Ah, Nicholas. You shouldn't have done that." I smiled sharply and moved, and suddenly Nicholas' back was slammed hard up against a wall of books, and my forearm was an unyielding bar tucked up firmly against Nicholas' throat, right beneath his jaw. Just enough pressure applied to suggest it could be worse. Much worse.

Nicholas inhaled harshly, and his fingers wrapped around my wrist, but he didn't try to move it. His eyes were huge and spooked.

"Don't push me, Nicholas," I breathed, and I was unable to resist the brush of my lips and just the slightest hint of tongue against Nicholas' ear. "If you want to fight someone… me… we can do that, if it is what you need. But I would rather not." Nicholas shuddered, and his eyes fluttered shut, and my lips drifted to the corner of Nicholas' mouth.

Nicholas started to speak, but I dropped my arm to his shoulder and curled my fingers along his cheek and chin, and turned his face to me, and then I crushed that beautiful, perfect mouth beneath me, and we were both lost for a short eternity.

It was always and has always been so between us.

Nicholas drew apart from me to catch his breath, and he whispered weakly, "Ah, William, William, why? You don't play fair…" and I flicked my tongue into his mouth, tempting and teasing until all Nicholas could do was groan. He slumped back bonelessly against the bookshelf, returning my kisses just as hungrily, raising his hands to rest on my waist, his fingers clutching me tightly, as if he was afraid I would vanish.

I reached around and untied the ribbon from his queue, letting his beautiful hair free around his face, and twined my hands in it, trying to control my shaking. It had been so long, so long, and all I wanted was for us to stay like this, with my mouth ghosting against Nicholas' throat, lightly kissing the reddened skin where my arm had pressed, listening to the sounds of his pleasure. My head dropped to rest in the crook of Nicholas' neck, and I breathed in the scent of him, familiar and enticing, the softness of his red, red hair tickling my cheek, my arms wrapping around Nicholas' waist just to hold him.

"I've missed you, Nicholas. You've no idea how much," I murmured, and I felt Nicholas' body stiffen in the circle of my arms.

"Not enough to come find me, though, was it?" and Nicholas sounded bitter again.

"Ah well, I could say the same of you, could I not?" I raised my head and regarded him steadily. "And yet here we are."

"Aye, and yet again I come running when you call."

"Oh, did you so?" I tried hard to contain my own anger and bitterness. I knew very well he had never even responded to my invitation, much less come running to me. "You have never, _ever_ called out to _me_, Nicholas. How am I… Never mind." I stepped away from Nicholas, releasing him and folding my arms across my own middle. "What am I to do?" I asked finally. "It seems as if it doesn't matter what it is, it will not be the right thing. Perhaps this was a mistake."

The silence lengthened and at last Nicholas carefully said, "Why did you ask me here?"

I smiled, and I could feel my face freeze into a polite mask. "I wanted to see you, of course." I turned away and ran my fingers along a shelf of books, checking the tips for dust. There was none, of course; the servants were impeccable in their thoroughness.

Nicholas placed his hands on my shoulders and gently turned me to face him. He was still angry, but his expression had softened.

"William. This… this is stupid, even for us," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck distractedly. "Let us speak plainly, if you please, for once. I am glad to be here. Well. That is, I am glad to see you. Very glad. Perhaps we should start this entire visit over." He slid his hands up and cradled the back of my head and he pulled me against the warm length of his body, looking down into my eyes. My hands settled on his hips as if they had a will of their own.

"I shall demonstrate."

I had no idea what he was talking about, and remember I blinked at him in confusion, but left my hands in place, stroking my thumb along the side of Nicholas' hipbone.

"Ah, William. How very glad I am to see you. Isn't the weather lovely?" Nicholas crooned sweetly, a smile curving the elegant line of his mouth.

His voiced switched to a sing-song falsetto. "Oh! Nicholas! Fancy meeting you here. How handsome and elegant you look today!"

A beautifully painted and ornamented fan snicked open and fluttered coyly, and then Nicholas was peeping flirtatiously over its top at me. "La! You flatter me, sir! Your words are too bold."

The corner of my mouth twitched up, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Oho, sir! I figure in your mind as some simpering girl?"

Nicholas grinned at me, and I could have watched that expression over and over again.

"You have a fan?" I had never seen him carry one, but I knew some of the swains about town did.

"A fan is quite the fashion necessity, William, I am utterly shocked that you don't know that."

"Mmm. You do look quite handsome and elegant today; I think I must agree with that assessment. But put the fan away, I can't quite encompass that."

Nicholas beamed. "Well, really, it is for my landlady. But I can see why women like them."

"Yes?"

"Yes. I am quite sure you noted the air of mystery and allure."

"Oh always, my Nicholas." And then we were smiling at each other, and I utterly could not have prevented myself from leaning over and running my tongue along the seam of Nicholas' lips.

"Ah, and your kisses are bold, too." Nicholas sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. The fan snapped shut.

"I am nearly certain you like my boldness, Nicholas," I breathed. I bit gently at the side of his neck just to hear him make that noise in the back of his throat, and tugged his shirt free, running my hand hard over the front of his breeches, down the length of his cock. I could feel the strong surge of his hips against my touch, and I smiled as he gasped, his head thrown back. Then somehow, I was on the floor; I wasn't sure how, because I didn't remember falling, and it seemed so easy, so intoxicating, and the place I was meant to be, with Nicholas on top of me, and Nicholas' tongue in my mouth, and Nicholas' fingers fumbling with increasing frustration at the buttons of my waistcoat.

I heard a rip and the sound of buttons popping off, and a faint laugh, and all I could see was Nicholas' face staring down at me, his eyes dark and his mouth soft and half-open, and I couldn't restrain the groan I felt tearing up from deep within me. Long, gentle fingers unfastened my breeches and eased me out, stroking teasingly down my length, until I growled, thrusting up hard and fast into that tormenting hand.

Nicholas smiled against my temple, kissing my eyes closed, and then he settled both of us on our sides and pulled me to him, winding his arm around the back of my head and twisting his fingers in my hair. I tilted my head up, kissing Nicholas desperately, wanting to at least show him how much I had missed him, if he couldn't believe my words.

I hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't dared to hope for it, really; all I had wanted was to see him and talk with him. I knew Nicholas was angry at me, and I had hoped that time apart from each other might allow both of us some time to cool down and regain some composure. I had never, ever, meant for him to feel as if I had abandoned him.

But it had been so long since we had last been together, and I could no more have prevented myself from this, from the comfort and joy of his arms and body and kisses, than I could have willed myself to stop breathing. And despite myself, all of my good intentions were swept away under the onslaught of Nicholas' carefully tormenting caresses. I wasn't at all sure I could last much longer, but Nicholas was lost in his own pleasure, his beautiful hands flexing and twining in my hair and against brushing gently against my cheek, and that also felt better than it had any right to.

I shivered, and I needed more pressure, needed for him to be closer to me, and my leg wrapped around Nicholas' waist, my foot nestling below his ass, holding him tightly. Nicholas buried his face in my neck, teeth nipping lightly, his tongue flicking hard against the pulse, and his long leg slid between my thighs, spreading me wider and opening me to his touch, and all I couldn't think at all, only feel the solid, warm strength of Nicholas' body, and the heat of Nicholas' breath against my cheek, and I never know why or how, it was always just as it should be between us when we were like this, or maybe better. And then Nicholas moaned helplessly, his hips rocking hard and steady against me, his cock digging into my belly, rubbing against his own hand and my erection, and oh, that was just... just... sublime.

I managed to snake my hand down the hard planes of Nicholas' stomach and down into his breeches, closing and stroking my palm hard and a little roughly around his dick, sliding my thumb into the slit. Nicholas arched against me and gave a strangled cry, his fingers helplessly clenching in my hair.

"Oh god, so good, you're so good, William," Nicholas whispered. "I could do this forever, with you." It sounded almost like a prayer. He shuddered and came, panting and spurting all over my grasping hand, his lips brushing and murmuring indistinctly against my ear, and it was all too much for me to hold back any longer. I felt my reality dissolve and shift, Nicholas kissing me and drinking in my cries, and all I could do was shake and clutch Nicholas as I fell away into nothingness.

I must have fallen asleep for a few moments; my head was still cradled and pillowed on Nicholas' arm, but Nicholas was also quiet and unmoving, his head tucked against my chin. It was odd and rare to see him so at peace; he was almost never relaxed. His breath was warm and even against my neck, tickling a little as he exhaled. His other arm draped loosely around my waist, and I belatedly realized Nicholas was also either asleep or close to it.

I huffed out a quiet laugh and stroked his bright hair, and tried to disentangle myself from gangly arms and legs. "Wake up, we can't stay here."

Nicholas sat up and yawned; for my part I to a moment to survey our crushed and rumpled clothing and observed in a wry tone, "We had to do that on the floor, with our clothes on?"

"_Carpe diem_, William. You were the one that taught me what that meant. You should be happy I am such an attentive student." He grinned. "Although, perhaps we should use a bed next time. Took the edge off though, hey?"

"Mmm. I can't disagree with that." I removed my shirt and wiped myself and Nicholas off, and then held the garment out, looking at it dubiously. I would have to launder it myself; I couldn't possibly ask one of the maids to do it. I couldn't help but sigh deeply as I dropped it, staring pensively into space, my fingers tapping my knee.

There were things we needed to say to each other to make things right between us, and although I had rarely ridden a horse, "lightly over the rough ground" covered a multitude of situations.

"Nicholas. I am sorry about my cousin and aunt. I truly didn't know they were going to be here today, and I wanted them to leave. But they don't take a hint, even from my mother, and I didn't know what to do. I just wanted her to leave you alone."

Nicholas threw his head back and stared at the ceiling for a minute. "Just, you know, being the bastard son of some broken-down bogtrotter noble doesn't really cover you in glory, hey? I take no pride or joy in it. Or anything else about all that, really. That's not why I told you that."

"I know, I understand, but I don't want you to think…"

Nicholas cut me off. "Shhhh. I don't think it. I know it wasn't you. And… I was angry at you and spoiling to fight before I ever walked in the door. And you were right about something else, I have been at fault too, I see that. I could have asked after you also. But still. You could visit me now and then, couldn't you?" He looked hopeful. "You don't even need an invitation. Just come see me sometime, hey? If you want to."

I opened my mouth to say more, to explain the difficulties involved, but I knew how it would sound to him. And to me as well. I finally murmured, "If that is what you want, Nicholas. Of course."

"Good. But for now, I think I should leave. Perhaps by the back door. My clothes seem to have succumbed to some disaster." He stood and buttoned up his waistcoat and _justaucorps_ to cover up the wreckage of his usually elegant clothing, and helped me stand, planting a slow and lingering kiss on my lips.

"Until later then." He grinned, and was gone, and leaving me feeling at once more bereft and more hopeful than I had in weeks.

**

 

It had been several days since I had seen Nicholas, and I had belatedly discovered that it was a surprisingly long walk to the King's Ransom, the tavern purportedly belonging to one Mistress Grace O'Malley. She had apparently hired him to help her mind the tavern in the evenings, in exchange for room and board and a weekly stipend.

The tavern was on the other side of town, and I was beginning to understand a bit why Nicholas might have been somewhat peeved at the prospect of yet another trek to come visit me. It was a long, hot, uncomfortable walk. I also had to ask directions several times; it wasn't as if the little pseudo-settlement at the waterfront had been laid out with any idea of a plan in mind. The terse and unfriendly manner in which the denizens of that area of Saint George had answered made it clear that I was not particularly welcome there, either.

I kept going, judiciously avoiding what seemed like the rougher streets and areas, and walking around the puddles and detritus that littered the road. I rather suspected that my shoes and probably my stockings would never be the same.

And there, finally it was. It had taken me well over an hour to travel, and that was downhill, and while I generally didn't mind a long walk, I had to admit I felt much more in sympathy with Nicholas than I had. It had gotten quite hot out during the afternoon, and at least I could get something to drink. I hoped.

The tavern itself was situated on a side street in a slightly better area of the waterfront than I had previously walked through, and I could see the plot of land on which it was built seemed to support some sort of garden behind it. At least, I could see flower plantings, although some of the other houses also sported window boxes. It was not quite as dreary here as elsewhere, and the street also seemed a bit cleaner and less odoriferous.

The sun was blazing overhead, and it was an actual relief to step into the cool, dark interior; it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Little silver bells had tinkled when I closed the door, announcing my presence, and I could hear someone enter the room, and the smell of some sort of food – stew, perhaps – cooking, and bread. The scent of flowers was strong, but in a good way, making me think of growing things and clean earth. It was quiet and serene, and it made me want to relax.

I began to understand why Nicholas liked it here.

A woman's voice asked me a question, I supposed in Gaelic. I didn't understand a word of it. There was a slight pause, and I could imagine sharp eyes, peering at me. "Oh, I see now, an English. Good day then, may I help you?" Her tone was polite, but cool.

"Excuse me, are you Mistress Grace O'Malley? Nicholas said…" My eyes had adjusted completely, and I could see her then, her hair and eyes dark as night. She seemed to be covered in an inordinate number of shawls, despite the heat of the day. She folded her arms across her chest as she regarded me steadily and thoughtfully. Her expression wasn't… unwelcoming… exactly, but more as if her expectations of me weren't at all high, and she was patiently waiting for me to disappoint her.

"Ah, Nicholas. Aye, he did mention someone coming by, perhaps. I will allow, I didn't think so." Her voice and eyes were a trifle skeptical, and I couldn't help but frown slightly. Whatever problems there might have been between Nicholas and I were nothing to do with her. "He is out back." She gestured airily behind her, and I could see an open door. I bowed elegantly and headed out the door, squelching a strong desire to slam it behind me; I didn't quite dare. I followed a hall to another door, and then I was outside again in a small courtyard and herb garden, and I could see Nicholas.

I leaned against the door and watched for a few minutes. Nicholas was splitting wood, wearing only his breeches and shoes, his bright hair braided back, intent on his task. He looked completely unlike the usually rather fashionable man I had always seen him to be, and I was disconcerted at the contrast. It had never occurred to me that Nicholas was capable of and used to manual labor, although I knew that Nicholas had been a soldier at some point in the not-so-distant past, and surely he had worked with his hands then. But I had never known Nicholas as anyone other than a rakishly handsome young man who sported lace at his cravat and wrists, and who displayed a great fondness for fine wine and silk and velvet. I wondered what else about Nicholas I didn't know or understand.

Nicholas stopped chopping and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. He was sweating in the heat of the late day sun, and I could see that his hands were reddened and beginning to blister, despite his swordsman's calluses, and his fair skin was burned across his neck and shoulders. Then he returned to splitting wood, the sledge hitting the wedge with rhythmic precision, his muscles working. He was delectable, as always, but I had seen enough.

I went back inside and found Mistress O'Malley. "Do you have some tea, perhaps? Or something cold."

Her eyebrow lifted. "Does this look like a tea house, sir? I have beer, whiskey, rum, wine, water… although I don't recommend that. Is beer good enough for you?" She sounded amused.

"It's not for me. And yes, thank you." She looked a little thoughtful, her brow wrinkled, and I watched as she drew a draught, then bowed, took it, and returned to the courtyard.

"Nicholas." I stood in the doorway, and held it out as an offering. "Come sit and rest, you need a break." Nicholas faltered at the sound of my voice, and then lowered the sledge to the ground, looking up and smiling blindingly.

"You came." He sounded rather surprised and pleased, and I was unsure of whether to be insulted or ashamed. I hadn't wanted to come here, I had to admit it to myself. "Ah, thank you, I need that." Nicholas sat on a stump and drank it all down, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's been a bit of a while for this, I am out of shape."

"Dare one ask why you are doing this, Nicholas?" I sat on the stump next to him and took his hand and looked at it, gently tracing the blisters.

Nicholas gave me a strange look. "It's what I _do_ here, William. It's what I agreed to with Gráinne, among other things. And she has no man to do for her. So I will. It's fine, I've just gotten soft. Not enough excitement around here." He winked, but I could tell he was very tired, and I wondered how long Nicholas had been working at this, and what else he had been doing.

"Gráinne?"

"Ah, Herself. Grace, as you would say." He grinned suddenly. "Her mam named her after a pirate queen… I think perhaps that was her great-granny or some such."

"The day's nearly ended anyway, why don't you knock off? You don't want to make your hands too blistered, or they won't callus properly. It will be there tomorrow if you really insist on getting back to it." I stepped down and started to stack the wood up in a tidy pile.

Nicholas watched me work, and eventually said, "You want supper? She's a good cook." The breeze was finally growing a bit cooler, and he stood up and stretched, groaning pleasurably, entering the tavern. I could hear him talking, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I suspected I wouldn't understand it anyway. It seemed so strange, to be literally surrounded by incomprehensible words. The thought intruded, and not for the first time, that perhaps I needed to broaden my horizons.

Nicholas brought food for the both of us to his tiny room. The common room had filled, and neither of us said so, but it was probably for the best that I didn't eat out there. We ate – it was in fact quite good, Nicholas had been right about that -- and then Nicholas showed me around. "I know, it's nothing like your end of town, is it?" He smiled. "But you know, it's nice, feels like a home." That gave me private pause, and I wondered how it was that a public house felt like a home to Nicholas.

We sat in Nicholas' room playing cards and drinking what I had to recognize as excellent beer, and finally Nicholas looked up and asked diffidently, "Are you… do you want to stay here tonight?"

I put my cards down and smiled and took Nicholas' hand. "Oh, do you want me to stay?"

"Oh always, William. But, I am tired, you know, too tired for fucking, and so I understand if you don't wish to do so." He looked concerned, and exhausted, and a bit flustered, and I felt an immediate pang of regret for my teasing. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Idiot. Do you really think that's the only reason I am here? I believe I am insulted, sir." I kissed the back of Nicholas' hand. "Go to bed, I'll clean up here."

I watched as Nicholas undressed and slid into bed, then blew out the candles and removed my own clothes, lying next to him on top of the blankets. Nicholas was always surprisingly warm to the touch, and the little room was a trifle stuffy. "Will she mind, do you think?" I asked after a bit.

"Why would she?" Nicholas' voice was sleepy already.

"Hmm. Well, good night then." I privately thought that was an amazingly silly and dangerously naïve answer to my question, but I arranged myself around Nicholas and fell asleep.

**

 

I had slept surprisingly well, and so it came as something as shock to be awakened by lips and hands tracing the contours of my body, Nicholas' long hair sweeping along the plane of my belly and legs.

"Ah, Nicholas…" I was warm and sleepy, and it was so pleasant just to let Nicholas do what he wanted, to just lie back and feel, and maybe Nicholas thought so too, because it was as if he was studying every inch of my body; lingering over and touching every scar, every blemish and learning them all by heart; tracing the shape of my mouth and memorizing the taste of my skin and the scent of my hair.

Nicholas kissed me as he if was a starving gourmand and my body was a feast laid before him, with an odd mixture of desperation and reverence, and it was only after he had lowered himself on my cock and rode both of us to a pleasantly bruised state, that I wondered what was going on.

Nicholas had seemed almost heavyhearted, and he sprawled against me, returning to sleep, long arms and legs wrapping around me. I, on the other hand, had rarely been more awake. My body was sated for now, but my mind had started churning: calculating and gauging and predicting -- at all of which I was so very, very good. I was sure that none of my thoughts showed on my face. But, really, Nicholas should have realized that I would almost certainly manage to ascertain his plans, especially since I sometimes wondered how he ever managed to make a livelihood as a gambler and a card player. And obviously he sometimes failed to appreciate the powers of deductive reasoning. He should have known I would _know_. I plotted rapidly.

It was growing lighter out, and I looked down at Nicholas. Sometimes I forgot how young Nicholas was, six years younger than I, but it was very apparent in that eerie not-quite-light of early dawn.

I gently stroked Nicholas' hair back from his face, and kissed his forehead. "Nicholas… I meant to tell you earlier. In fact, I meant to tell you the last time we met, but I was distracted. I need to go to sea. I'm heading out in a couple of days."

There was a long silence, and I wondered what was going through that beautiful, chaotic head, and finally Nicholas murmured, "I see. Well. I'll see you when you get back, perhaps."

"You could go with me."

"I don't think so, William." Nicholas sat up and looked away from me. "I am no sailor." He drew a deep breath. "And I have obligations here for now."

Nicholas' expression was odd, both open and vulnerable, in a way that I had never before seen him, and I hated myself a little bit as I cast my line and set my hook, speaking words that I knew would catch and hold Nicholas more fast than any physical tie.

"Ah, but I need you, you see." My voice lowered, almost purring, and Nicholas inhaled sharply and shivered in response. I suppressed a smile. "I will be meeting a pirate on a matter of business, an Irish pirate I should say, and I need a translator and a bodyguard. And who better than you, who I trust with my life? I know you wouldn't let me down, not when I need you to help me, just this once," I murmured, tracing the contours of Nicholas' cheekbones with my fingers.

"Oh God." Nicholas closed his eyes, and the expression of agonized indecision on his face almost made me take back my words. Almost.

I settled back against the pillow, arranging and smoothing the sheets around my waist. "Would you go if I found someone to help with the chores you would ordinarily do here? I could find someone to take care of her and this place."

"If... if you find someone to take care of Gráinne, I'll go with you, then. And mind, he has to do whatever she needs and what she tells him."

"Of course, Nicholas, just as you say," I whispered, and twined my fingers in Nicholas' hair, kissing him breathless. "Whatever you say."

**

 

"So then," said Mistress Gráinne Ní Mháille, gliding past me, the broom handle in her strong hands missing my ear by a fraction of an inch, her several layers of skirts and shawls billowing behind. She usually swept out the tavern and scoured the tables down as if the slightest speck of dust was her mortal enemy. The scent of flowers and sun, rosemary and mint followed pleasantly in her wake, and I breathed it in, savoring it. I would miss that, and her.

"He crooks his finger, and you drop everything and go. Are you his hound, then, to come running when he bids?" She stared back at me over her shoulder, her chiseled features impassive. Wisps of silver-and-black hair feathered out from her braid, and suddenly she looked fey, her dark eyes keen and sharp as a raven's.

I put down my coffee and thought about it, feeling tired and a little unhappy. She turned her back to me, her lips compressed, her fingers turning white on her broomstick, waiting for my answer. "Ah well. I suppose I am," I said finally. "I've been called worse, and in this very room, too."

She snorted. "Well, Young Nick. At least you are honest about it. A hound is not so bad. The very least that can be said of them is that are loyal, generous and patient with those they love."

I choked on my soup. "I don't... I'm not… You can't possibly think…" There was no good way to end that particular exchange of views, and so I dropped it as if the very topic burned me.

"Pffft. Why must men be so foolish?" She sniffed and sounded irritated, and I decided against answering the question. "Never mind then. Eat your supper and the good bread I baked for you. You're too thin." She sat down across from me and watched me eat. "Well then, when are you leaving?" Her fingers toyed restlessly with the silver bangles on her wrist.

"The day after tomorrow. Oh! I meant to give you this, to hold my room. Although I suppose I don't mind if you rent it out while I am gone, since I won't be using it." I reached into my coat and pulled out my purse, and handed it to her. "And to help you out if need be. It isn't as if I'll need it at sea."

She weighed it in her hand, looking at the little bag as if it was a snake poised to bite her. "In for a penny, in for a pound, eh, Young Nick? Are you sure this is what you want, then?" Her voice was very earnest, her dark brows knit. Her full mouth was a straight line, and I wondered at it, and at her behavior.

Usually she didn't have much to offer one way or the other, except to remind me to eat the good food she fixed for me; to not drink too much (although she had to admit she had a deft hand with the brewing of beer, and it was no shame to drink it down, was it, and a sin to waste it); to keep away from that slattern Eibhlín Ní Rahilly, because she was a bad one and had the pox to boot (or so she had heard) and if I wanted to meet a nice God-fearing girl, her niece was sweet-natured and a goodly housewife (and had a trim little figure too, even though she shouldn't say so); to get to bed at a godly hour; to make sure to brush my clothes out because the mud around here was enough to plague the devil himself; to clean up after myself, because her tavern was a clean, Christian household and she wanted to keep it so (and wasn't cleanliness next to Godliness?); and mass was at 7 tomorrow, and I _would_ be coming along with her so to be sure I was properly washed and my hair combed, and… and… she actually cared about what became of me and was worried for me, I realized suddenly and with an almost blinding burst of affection.

I knelt next to her, and drew her hand up and lightly kissed the back of it, then stood up and kissed her cheek, sitting next to her on the table. "I'll be fine, O Queen of the Seas, I swear it. William needs me, needs me to translate for him. We should be back quickly, it does not sound so bad."

She snorted skeptically. "Brat." She gave a quick tug on my hair, staring with hard eyes at something only she could see. She did not look at all comforted, and I wished distantly that my own mother had shown a fraction of such concern and care when I left home to go to war.

"Aye, I'll be bound he does need someone to translate," she said at last. Her tone was grim, and her mouth still a straight line, but she placed her hand on my head and stroked my hair, patting my cheek. "You're a good boy, Nicholas." She was silent for a bit, but her hand continued stroking my hair. "If this is what you need to do, and where you need to be, I'll say no more. God go with you and angels keep you, then. Your room will be waiting for you when you get back."


	2. The Sea of Sargasso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Maelstrom](http://avierra.livejournal.com/25621.html). Many thanks to
> 
> [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/profile)[**freeradical9**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/)  for all of her observations and suggestions (not to mention reading multiple iterations of most of my chapters. &gt;_&gt;). I touched this section last; any mistakes are entirely due to my  having continued to fool with this.

Part 1: Scylla and Charybdis

Part 2: The Sea of Sargasso

I could tell it was going to be excellent sailing weather. It was one of those mornings where it just felt good to be alive: the ocean breeze blowing inwards from the sea was clean and exhilarating, clearing out even the stale stenches of the lower town, and the sun was already bright and blazing. I had stepped into the quiet darkness of the tavern, intent on collecting Nicholas and whatever he was going to bring on the voyage, the lemon and white clouds coloring the horizon behind me as I closed the door. I had to admit I enjoyed the clean, earthy smells of the main room as I entered; quite the contrast from the squalor outside. I closed my eyes and savored the peaceful atmosphere, waiting for my sight to adjust to the dimness.

There was a clatter, as if something had dropped to the floor, and then "You!" a woman's voice hissed, and the noise that followed hard on her words sounded suspiciously like a growl. The door to the hallway slammed shut ahead of me, and I heard the swift, soft rustle of fabric, the quiet slide of shoe-leather on stone. I blinked rapidly, trying adjust my vision, but all I could make out was shadows. And then my head rocked back, and both sides of my face and ears stung. No… they ached. I was a trifle stunned and disoriented, and unable to think properly, but I was fairly certain Mistress O'Malley had actually boxed my ears and slapped my face as hard as she could, just as if I were a wayward, misbehaving child.

I had not been prepared for an attack. Especially not from a woman, and particularly not from this woman. I had thought we had developed a rapport because of our mutual esteem of Nicholas. Perhaps I should have known better; I had seen she was very protective of Nicholas, after all. If I was honest, I also hadn't really believed that she would ascertain why I was here; I have never been one for leaving matters to chance. Evidently I had underestimated her on a number of fronts. And she was fast, too. Surprisingly fast, considering she was encumbered with skirts and shawls and other frippery articles of women's clothing. I barely dodged another slap, and flailed back and away, shocked and reeling, my back hitting the wall with a thud. I still couldn't see properly, but the scent of flowers and herbs was strong, and I could tell she was very close.

"You said or did something to him, to make him go with you, I know it. I know it. You serpent. You viper. He was well on his way to getting out of here, climbing out of this shithole of an island, but you! Like weights around his ankles, you drag him back down into the muck." She was panting with fury, and I was fleetingly, distantly struck by how easily an Irish accent made even curses sound like a song. "His life is a game to you then, and he a toy, your toy, you miserable Sasanach?" She aimed another slap at my face, which I somehow managed to evade, then I caught her wrist, and we stood glaring at each other, breathing rapidly. "Shame to you. Shame!" The sharp, fierce point of her index finger jabbed me in the chest, right through the exquisitely arranged folds of my lace cravat, and then she kicked me hard in the shin.

"I am unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a manner," I whispered, squeezing her hand until I felt the fine bones grinding together. It must have hurt her, I had meant it to, but she made not a sound, staring at me with equal parts of contempt and loathing. It was novel to me, this shame and guilt, and I felt almost nauseated, the more so for deliberately hurting a woman.

Even worse, it was almost unthinkable that she of all people -- humble and poor, an Irish fishwife (or maybe banshee was the word I meant, I wasn't sure anymore) of a tavern-keeper -- dared, dared! to speak so to me, respected and respectable Captain William Scarcliff. But… it was right and proper -- even justice perhaps -- that she did. I deserved her scorn; I knew that. Every word of it. I dropped her hand and clenched my fists so tightly that I could vaguely feel my fingernails cut into my palms. I settled my face into its usual placid mask, and tried to concentrate on evening out my breathing and regaining control over my emotions.

She was breathing hard, but at least she hadn't tried to hit or kick me again. Instead, she stared at me, her black eyes hard and bitterly cold as winter ice, sizing me up and finding me severely lacking. I was not accustomed to being made to feel small… worthless… and I could feel the tides of my resentment and anger rising again, despite my efforts at containing myself.

"I would have a care if I were you," I finally ground out.

"Ah, it's flattered I am by your concern," she jeered instantly, giving me a mocking and astonishingly graceful curtsey. "Do your worst then, do you think I care? Are you going to take me away from this grand palace? A fig to you, sir, a fig!" She made a shocking and very rude gesture at me. That she even knew that… much less what it meant!… It brought me up short and rather horrified me. Never before in my presence had a woman cursed or offered obscene salutes, and certainly not at me. The earth had obviously tilted off its axis.

"He is not meant for this. Not meant for here." Her arm swept about her, the motion sharp and abrupt. "He is almost ready to get away from here. Why…" Her voice trailed off and she stared at me, her expression arrested. "Ahhhh, but that's it, isn't it, my boy?" she breathed. "I see it now. I see it all. I knew you had done something to make him change his mind, but I didn't know why, not for certain. And that's it."

My face flushed with mortification, and I swung away, my back to her. "Whatever it is you think you see, you are mistaken, Madame."

"Ah, I think not." She sounded less angry and mostly thoughtful, although I couldn't see her face. "I reckon I am right on the mark. Because you could easily have spared him the two or three pounds it would take to get him to the provinces, could have taken him there yourself, for all that. But you didn't, such a great friend as you are to him. And why not?"

There was a long, excruciating silence, and I felt the flesh being flayed from my bones under the knife-edge of her scrutiny. "I am not so noble," I murmured at last, my eyes falling closed.

She snorted derisively. "Obviously not. I suppose I should thank God I've no such friends as you."

"But very possibly enemies like me," I muttered under my breath, turning and glaring down at her.

She smiled. It was not pleasant. "Very possibly," she agreed. "But it's my thought that one's worth may be counted by the quality of her enemies, no? So then, let us speak plainly. Or rather, even more plainly. Nicholas has made up his mind as to what he is doing, so that is that. He is a man grown, and I'll not stand in his way, even if he doesn't see what you have done, even if you have tricked him into doing your will." I made a noise of incoherent protest. "Be quiet, young man." Her finger poked hard at my chest again; it was surprisingly painful. "We both know what you did. I don't know the details, and nor do I want to. But I will tell you this, Captain. If he comes back here with so much as a scratch on him, I will make you rue the day your mother squeezed you out. Take that as you wish, I'll say no more on it."

"If you think I would ever let him come to harm, you are much in error, Madame," I retorted, trying in vain to restore my savaged dignity.

"If you think you can make the forces of the world do your bidding at your whim, I think you will find it's you who are much in error, my boy. But I suppose your heart is in the right place in that regard, at least. You mind what I said." She bent down and picked up her broom, and threw open the door to the hall behind her. She resumed sweeping, turning her back and ignoring me completely. I could not help but note that her wrist and hand were beginning to show the first signs of a bruise. I cravenly fled into the depths of the tavern.

 

**

 

Unlike William, I thought one of the most interesting things about Nassau was that it was a brand new town -- a brand new town built on the ruins of an earlier town that the Spanish had plundered and burned. Apparently the Spaniards had objected in the strongest possible terms to pirate attacks originating from there and decided to end that threat, but the prospect of easily acquired gold from overweighted galleons had proven too strong to resist, and the latest version of the town had sprung up, phoenix-like, from the ashes of the old. Most people here lived in tents and shacks, or sometimes grubby little huts, but there were also a number of fairly decently-built taverns and public houses. I supposed the extremely transient nature of most of the people here made inn-keeping a very profitable business.

Nassau bore some slight resemblance to the waterfront back in the Town of Saint George in Bermuda, where I had made a home of sorts – strictly temporarily, I hoped. The streets were muddy and poorly maintained, and what buildings there were had been hastily constructed. But the differences ended there. There was a sort of energy, a vitality, that was not present back in Bermuda, and the people here seemed to have a purpose. It was true that their purpose was generally piracy or buccaneering, or serving those who engaged in those trades, but at least they had goals. They seemed to have a future. It both depressed me and intrigued me at the same time.

The streets were full of people, doing all sorts of things, including fighting and fucking from what I had been able to see in my brief walk from the ship into the town proper. It was just my kind of place, or maybe it would be once I had a chance to deposit all my and William's stuff in the room we had managed to rent. And maybe cool down with a pint or two of beer.

At any rate, given all that, and Nassau's very strategic location in general, I had wondered if our – if William's -- business here included a brief spot of pira – "privateering." But if so, William hadn't mentioned it at all.

William knew exactly what I thought about all that, so it probably wasn't that, though. And really, seeing all these people blatantly engaged in the ancient art of piracy was dredging up a lot of stuff that I had hoped to put off thinking about for a bit longer.

Pirates – and privateers – preyed upon innocents. William tried to be more humane than most pirates. Or privateers. Whatever the fuck they were: there was no difference to me, except that William had some fancy piece of paper he could wave around that said it was fine for him to do it. It was true that he didn't kill or torture or rape his captives, he merely sent them off to be ransomed and presumably returned to their home countries. Or who knew what happened to them, actually. I wondered if William did. It would have been one thing if William and his clockwork-precise crew targeted enemy naval vessels or warships, but they didn't. There was no money to be had there.

There had been women and children passengers on the Spanish ship I had been on, when William and I first met. I didn't care so much about the men, because they deserved whatever happened to them for not fighting to protect themselves and their families, but even so. And I didn't much care about the crew of that galleon, especially since they had given up without even trying. But I knew I would never forget the terrified faces of all the people on that ship.

It hadn't helped that William refused to acknowledge that he had ruined people's lives, that he had irrevocably disrupted the course of my life for that matter. If all had gone properly on my journey, I would have been back in France or Spain by now, probably happily employed and resuming my search for my father and my brothers. I hadn't heard anything of them or from them since the Battle of the Boyne, back in '90.

I understood why things had happened as they did: William couldn't deposit me at some French or Spanish colony. Or at least, he wouldn't have back then, risking himself, his ship and his crew for someone he'd just met. I didn't blame him for that.

The problem had been, and still was, that I couldn't properly function in an English colony. I was Irish and Catholic, and that was two almost insurmountable strikes against me. There were laws against English captains hiring me on as a sailor or soldier, and it was also illegal for me to be armed. There were a lot of things it was illegal for me to do nowadays, so many it was difficult to keep track of.

Instead, I was living on Bermuda and doing manual labor to save enough money for a ticket off the island. It wasn't my favorite type of work, but at least it was work. Gráinne had saved me, before I even really realized I might need to be saved.

William had probably thought he was helping me out by taking me to Bermuda. I had had serious reservations, but I hadn't protested too much. It was far better than being dropped off at Nevis or Barbados, or some other quintessentially English colony, which were the other choices that William had offered me. William's home was also on Bermuda and he would be there, he had been there. And that had surprised me both then and now; I had not expected to see much of Captain Scarcliff once we docked.

Some part of me could hardly bear to lose that connection once it had been established, even as tentative as it was back then. And at least on Bermuda I could fade into the background a bit; it felt just a very bit too warm for someone like me in English territory – the whole issue of my being a traitor to the Crown was a bit off-putting, I felt. And it wasn't too far to the mainland if I needed to get there, a mere two or three day's sail. But still, going to Bermuda hadn't been entirely my choice either, and it rankled. I thought it might rankle less if William would just admit that I had a fucking point about the civilians, and also that he was a highhanded bastard at times. It wasn't as if I held the last part against him, anyway.

So far that hadn't happened, and probably never would happen. Especially since William thought the fact that I had actually killed people – soldiers -- somehow cancelled out his own targeting of civilians whom he didn't kill. Maybe William was right about that, I didn't know. Unlike William, I didn't read all those philosophy books and shit that told you how to think about things. But it was my belief was that killing soldiers who were invading your fucking home was not the same as ruining regular people who were going about their business and just trying to live their lives. I had never done that.

The last "exchange of views" the two of us had had on that topic had nearly permanently ended our friendship, and I wasn't yet willing to enter into another discussion about it. Since then, since we had gotten back together, William had also avoided any conversational sallies that might lead back to that fraught subject. But it hung between us, obvious and stifling, and I deeply regretted the loss of our former openness. I just wasn't sure what to do to make things right, because who was I after all to say anything at all to William about what he was, and for what he did? William was right about that. I had seen things as a soldier, and done things just to survive… So, it wasn't my place. And really, I didn't want William to change who and what he was; I liked him – more than liked him -- the way he was, but I couldn't help but find it all perfectly appalling. It was quite a conundrum, and I had no answers.

I felt like a hypocrite, and it all weighed heavily on my mind, especially surrounded as we were by people who undoubtedly were far more ruthless than William even dreamed of being.

I helped William carry his books and valise across town to the inn William had finally chosen, my own pack slung over his shoulder. That at least made me smile a bit: God knew William couldn't last a few days without something to read. Still, that fucking bag of books weighed more than William's entire valise. Lugging all that shit across town was bad enough, but it was also uncomfortably hot in Nassau; I had forgotten just how stifling it could get in the West Indies.

William seemed restless and irritable for some reason, quite possibly having to do with the fact that he still hadn't shed his justaucorps or waistcoat -- and a belated realization that dressing like a proper gentleman wasn't really an option in this climate.

William's irritation was also undoubtedly exacerbated by the fact that we had asked a number of Nassau residents for the whereabouts of one Captain Hugh O'Neill, without any success, even with financial inducements to jog memories. It was the first time I had heard the name of the so-called pirate captain we were supposed to meet. Wandering around town and speaking with the local population had occupied a great deal of the afternoon, but William had finally decided to give up, at least temporarily.

At least the inn was decent enough, close to the edge of town and away from the noise and bustle. I didn't mind the hubbub too much, but I knew William preferred a quieter venue. I dropped William's and my bags, and threw myself exhaustedly into the room's lone chair.

I still wondered why William had asked me along on this little excursion. William asking me to join the crew for this trip didn't make much sense -- aside from the obvious -- and the rather dubious pleasure of my company. Interpreter my ass. It would be some sort of bumpkin Irishman that didn't speak English, much less a ship's captain. Maybe William didn't realize that, though. I was willing to concede that perhaps some of my fellow countrymen were not unwilling to feign incomprehension when their despised overlords addressed them.

William had been decidedly uncommunicative when queried about it, which in retrospect probably should have rung an alarm in my mind. It never did: I realized early on, shortly after first meeting William in fact, that I had no sense of self-preservation where he was concerned. It should probably bother me a lot more than it did, but it was just how it was, not much to be done about it now.

The one thing I did know was that William had a rather predictable tendency to try to kill two birds with one stone. It was both a weakness and strength when we played cards – one that I was only too happy to exploit. It also made me feel a trifle wary when William started scheming -- which he very clearly was, as far as I was concerned.

William also needed a bodyguard about as much as a shark… no… a tiger did. William wasn't reptilian and cold, like a shark. He was beautiful and elegant and silently lethal. When I thought of William in action, I always imagined him concealing himself and his intentions in the deepest green shadows of some vine-covered forest, waiting, hidden, until the perfect moment to pounce, all deadly grace and skill.

…And, I felt a trifle warm again. I loosened my cravat and threw it on the room's only table, staring off into space, my leg jiggling. The town had seemed interesting enough at first, I supposed, but I was a trifle bored, if I thought about it, and I wasn't really up to going out after a game of cards. Too hot, maybe.

I watched William peel off his justaucorps and waistcoat and sit down on the bed with a tired huff, his hands in his lap. He appeared lost in thought, his fine features slightly flushed from the heat, his hair spiking out in an uncharacteristically unruly fashion.

"Hmmm. O'Neill and O'Donnell. There are plenty of Irishmen here, one would think it wouldn't be too very hard to find some trace of them."

I looked up at hearing the second name. "Eh? O'Neill and O'Donnell? Who's O'Donnell?"

"I believe he is Captain O'Neill's first mate. But I am not sure about that."

I frowned. "Eh, William… that's interesting. I didn't think much about hearing O'Neill's name, because truth to speak, half of Ireland is their get, but those two names together usually means trouble of one kind or another. The O'Neills and the O'Donnells are old families where I come from, and close kin to each other and most everyone's who anyone on the west coast. Powerful… and they cause a fair powerful mess too, a lot of the time."

"They're from Ulster, like you? Do you know anything else about these people?"

I shrugged and looked away. "Well. I'm not from there anymore. Was born in Donegal, though, that's part of Ulster, and that's where a lot of the O'Donnells are from. My Da's mam was an O'Donnell. So, they're kin to me. The O'Neills too, probably. I don't keep track of all that shit. But as for knowing about them… heh. I wouldn't say that. Lots of sailors and watermen in those families though, so it isn't such a stretch to see them paired like that."

I had to think how to explain it so that he would understand; Irish history and clan politics have never been subjects for the faint of heart. "It's just… there's old business, from back in the day with old Queen Elizabeth. Those two families kicked up a lot of dust, and it still hasn't all settled. And to be honest, I am not sure whether to be proud of that lot for trying to change the way things were and keeping up the fight despite everything, or to hate them for making things so much worse. Of course, after everything went completely to shit, the chiefs piked off to France and Spain, and everyone else was left holding the bag. But they were safe, and so."

"Troublemakers, then?" William enquired politely.

I grinned. "Pfft, no. They… we're shit stirrers."

"Well. I am afraid I am not quite sure where to go from here," William admitted after a time. "It seems quite possible that this Captain O'Neill doesn't wish to be found, and no one seems willing to divulge his location, for whatever reason. Is he particularly fearsome, I wonder? One would think a pirate captain would not be particularly difficult to find in this place."

I snorted. "And so? What difference does it make? There are any number of pirates and other assorted lowlifes around here if you really want to buy their goods."

"Not for this." William stood and opened his valise, pulling out a soft bundle. He shook it out and I just stared. It unfurled in softly whispering waves of gleaming dark rose silk brocade, gold thread picking out some sort of pattern around rich embroidery. Dragons? Maybe. I couldn't quite see, but they looked somewhat odd if so.

"Very pretty, but… You… we… came all the way out here for… fabric?" I tried hard to keep the tone of incredulity out of my voice, but I wasn't at all sure that I succeeded.

"There's another length with pearls on it. And some ribbons of various types." William pulled out a shimmering bundle of midnight blue fabric, pearls spangled across it like stars; and several handfuls of ribbons and furbelows. I was no expert, but it all looked well above my touch.

"I see… I suppose I expected something rather more exciting." I grinned suddenly. "Smuggled whisky or brandy, or spices, or guns, or that sort of thing."

"Ah well, I am sorry to disappoint. But this is interesting in and of itself. It's Chinese silk, very rare and precious. Even these ribbons are woven from it. One doesn't generally find that type of quality except on the backs of the highest nobility, at least in Europe. So an interesting question presents itself: how did some Caribbean pirate get something like this? And where did he get it?"

"What do you care? Do you really want this stuff? What are you going to do with it?" I reached over and took hold of the rose bundle, running my hand over it. It was soft and thick… rich… and much better quality than any silk I had ever worn. Which admittedly wasn't much.

"Well, the… excellence of my sense of business aside, as you so kindly put it back at my parents', I can't think there is much of a market for goods of this quality here or any of the other usual ports. If that's the case, then our pirate captain might be willing to come to terms on selling me the rest of it. Of course, he might have just sold it at a cut rate, but then that's one of the things I want to establish. I think he would be foolish to do, however. It would probably be better for him to go to the provinces and see if he could sell it there, but that's a long haul for an uncertain sale. In any case, if he hasn't been able to sell it, I don't imagine he is particularly happy with having it around collecting dust. And I doubt he would just dump it – at least I would hope he wouldn't – because it's too valuable. Well, we'll see."

"That's a lot of ifs, William… it rather surprises me to hear it from you, in fact. Dare one ask how you came to have it, if you don't believe he's sold any of it?" I was trying for a casual tone, but I am pretty sure my leg jiggled faster. I needed to work on that sort of signal. But I was on to something, I just knew it, and I also knew with every fiber of my being that William wasn't telling me everything about the wretched fabric.

William folded up the fabric and ribbon – it was surprising how small it the final bundles looked – and put them in his coat pocket. "They were given to me in payment for investigating how Captain O'Neill came to have them in the first place," he said at last.

I tried really hard to suppress a strong surge of exasperation… and also, to my own surprise, resentment. It wasn't my business, it wasn't my business, I reminded myself, and if William didn't want to tell me anything else, that was his prerogative. But it stung me to the quick to know that William didn't trust me enough to tell me the whole story. While we had been onboard the ship, I had tried to talk to William about all this to no avail, but I had thought that William was just too absorbed in his duties to afford me much attention. Now I wondered if he had been avoiding me. I bit the inside of my cheek hard to prevent myself from saying anything hasty, and I and William stood, staring at each other for a few seconds.

I looked away first. William didn't owe me a damn thing, after all.

"Perhaps we should get some dinner, if there's any to be found around here." I grabbed my justaucorps and threw it on, not bothering with the buttons, turning towards the door to leave. William grabbed my elbow, stopping me in my tracks.

"It's not my story to tell, Nicholas. I hope you will understand that. It's not because I don't want you to know. I can see… I can tell that you are angry. But the whole tale of how this situation came about was told to me in confidence, with the expectation that I would be discreet about it. …At which I am now failing miserably."

I could hear the rueful smile in William's voice, and I turned back around, my expression softening. "You don't owe me an explanation, William. I wouldn't ask you to break your word. Of course I wouldn't. Let's get dinner, it happens I am utterly famished. And you look as if you could use a cool drink." I smiled and clapped William on the shoulder. "After you, Captain."

 

**

 

It was surprisingly dark out by the time we finished eating, but at least it was cooler, if a trifle misty. The moon was full, and there were a few torches lit here and there, but it was still hard to see. There seemed to be a rather large number of people milling about considering the rather advanced hour, and unlike Nicholas' rather overstated interest, I avoided staring too intently into some of the darker shadows. I freely acknowledged there were some things I was better off not seeing or hearing more than I already was. The state of the road was such that my chiefest desire was to somehow avoid stepping in something too noxious.

We walked back towards the inn in companionable silence, our shoulders bumping occasionally. The two of us had never really had a time when we were just able to be alone and enjoy each other's company, I realized suddenly. Maybe when we got back, Nicholas and I could go off together for a while, sailing perhaps. I wondered if Nicholas would like that. It felt like I should know, and I was disturbed to realize I didn't.

I was deep in thought, and so I nearly missed the shrill whistle behind us. I stopped in my tracks, listening. Muffled words drifted back towards me; I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but they weren't making much of an effort to be stealthy, and I could easily tell they were rapidly approaching us. And they definitely didn't sound particularly friendly. I put my hands on my pistols, ready and waiting. I was looking forward to this, I realized suddenly, after a day of frustration and discomfiture.

Nicholas knew and understood what was going on, I could tell, because Nicholas suddenly stiffened and moved… flowed… swiftly and gracefully, simultaneously drawing his short, odd-looking sword and grabbing me and more or less flinging me backwards behind him. I caught the flash of a sword in the moonlight and the whooooooosh of sliced air, and then Nicholas gasped sharply and twisted forward, trying to keep track of the attackers. I could make out four of them just emerging from the shadows between the buildings, and one to the side, flanking us. I could barely see their features, but one of them, the one to the side, was laughing contemptuously, and all of them had swords drawn.

Probably robbers, I guessed. It did not come as a particular shock that a town full of pirates might possibly have some denizens who would lie in wait for passersby, particularly passersby that might on the surface to appear to be easy, drunken marks.

The robber flanking us said something to Nicholas that caused the others to laugh. Nicholas laughed mockingly and responded; whatever he said wiped the smiles off their faces and the four in front attacked in a blur of motion. Nicholas threw himself forward and engaged, leaving me watching events unfold barely ten feet in front of me. The whole exchange had taken perhaps four seconds.

It all suddenly seemed very surreal to me, as if it was happening in a dream. The street was all at once empty of people, and the misty air swirled about us as we all moved, adding to the sense of unreality.

There is something a little odd that transpires when I prepare to enter battle: it is as if I can see the entire situation evolve almost as if it is taking place on a game board, with the various game pieces arrayed in certain patterns ready for me to analyze and exploit. I can make out details with exquisite clarity; sights and smells and sounds are orderly and distinct. Everything just falls neatly into place: after all, once the pieces have been set in motion in a game, there are only a limited number of things they can actually do. And so it was then as well: I could see how our opponents had to move, and where they had to go.

I could see Nicholas' face in profile: he was very pale, his expression oddly intent, his mouth a furious line. I had seen him look that way before, when I had first met Nicholas. Back then, Nicholas had been prepared to fight to the death against three of my crewmen.

"Ow, ow shit fuck fuck fuck…" I heard Nicholas mutter, but then he twisted forward again, almost bonelessly, stabbing and parrying at the group in front of him. I could just barely make them out in the shadows. One of them -- the original attacker -- was flanking Nicholas, and I could see that bastard quite well in the pristine white light of the moon, could see there was wetness on the blade of his hanger, and without another thought I brought up one of my pistols and shot him point blank.

I didn't quite understand why they were attacking us, since it should have been easily apparent that both Nicholas and I could take care of ourselves – we hadn't been trying to conceal the fact that we carried weapons at all -- but perhaps they had simply felt that we would be easy targets, and it was five to two, after all. Nicholas was fairly inebriated, and perhaps I seemed so as well, but this ill-conceived and poorly executed strategy certainly wouldn't have been the way I conducted an ambush attack. In any case, they seriously underestimated us. I had more three pistols primed and loaded, ready to fire at someone, as soon as Nicholas quit dancing around quite as much as he was. I couldn't get a clear shot.

"Heh!" That was Nicholas darting in, lunging forward, and darting back out. One of the remaining group of four dropped with a sobbing cry, clutching his belly, and Nicholas used his momentum from disengaging to swing out of the way, leaving me with an opening. My second pistol exploded and then there were two. I could see they were terrified, but there was no way for them to escape without opening themselves to further attack. I briefly wondered if I would accept their surrender, but they hadn't offered, so I shrugged and waited.

The mist swirled about us, and I could see the pattern of movements falling into place again. Nicholas moved just so, and my third pistol barked at the same time as Nicholas thrust the tip of his colichemarde into the last one. Then we were surrounded by absolute stillness except for the sounds of our panting breaths. Nicholas wiped his blade off on the last person he had stuck. I thought the man might still be alive, but there was a red stain expanding right under his heart. The others were likewise unmoving although two of them were groaning. Either dead, or close to it, then. Not that I cared.

There was no one around us now, no voices drifting on the night breeze. We might easily have been the only two people in the town, but I could feel hidden eyes on the back of my neck.

"Well. That was fun, hey?" He still sounded cheerful, but strain was apparent in his voice. "I would be quite grateful if you would do me the kindness to do a bit better job of cleaning it off, and put it back in the scabbard, William, if you please..." He reluctantly offered me his sword, and I thoroughly wiped it off on their corpses; it seemed quite fitting. I could discern a steady trickle of blood dripping off Nicholas' left hand and onto the dirt road. It gleamed like black gems in the pale, pale light. "I do believe we should return to our room," he continued. "Not much to be done out here." He clasped his right hand around his upper arm, pressing hard to stanch the blood flow, and started walking.

 

**

 

When we got back to our room, Nicholas peeled off his justaucorps and shirt and threw them on the table and sat down. He was pale and sweaty, and his upper arm and chest were covered with blood. For once in my life, I was at a bit of a loss as to how to proceed. I felt numb.

"That was my favorite shirt," said Nicholas indignantly. "I suppose the coat can be salvaged, with a bit of care. And someone who knows how to sew. Which isn't me." He looked critically at his upper arm. The blood flow had slowed to a sluggish ooze, and I could see a long, shallow slash traversing Nicholas' shoulder and upper arm and angling towards his chest.

"Shit. That hurts like hell." Nicholas threw back his head and looked at the ceiling for a moment, brushing his bright hair away from his shoulders. "There's some rum in my bag, if you would get it…"

"Aren't you going to wash that off?" I went and got the washbowl and basin and placed it on the table in front of Nicholas.

"I'm not using the water from around here to wash any wound of mine. Water makes you sick anyway." He didn't even look at the basin and its contents, and I fetched the little flask of rum, watching dubiously.

Nicholas caught my eye and his voice softened. "I'm fine, William, don't look like that." I hadn't realized I looked any particular way, but I supposed I must. "I've done this quite often, and this isn't so bad. It's just too bad we don't have any honey or spider webs, but this will do. Can you, would you rip up the shirt into strips? It's ruined anyway, might as well make some use of it." He watched me rip until there was a pile of cloth, then he took one and poured rum on it, using it to clean up as much blood as he could. He upended the bottle over his arm, pouring it over the gash and washing it clean.

"Ahhh shit!" he gasped, closing his eyes and turning even paler, swaying slightly in his seat. I grabbed one of the rags and swabbed his arm and chest, trying to get everything as clean as I could.

"Hold still." I made a pad and bound it around Nicholas' arm, trying to keep it neat and even, tying it off firmly. I looked at Nicholas' blood staining my hands, and scrubbed them furiously and fastidiously on the remains of the shirt. They felt as if they would never come clean, no matter how much water I used.

Nicholas watched me worriedly, and finally reached over and gently took the rags from me, and threaded our fingers together. "William… it will be fine. Truly. I heal very fast. In a day or two this will be almost all fixed, you'll see."

I heard myself laugh, except it came out as a strangled half-sob.

"You've never seen anyone wounded before?" Nicholas sounded puzzled. "But no, you run a pirate ship, so you must have seen people hurt."

I half-smiled and looked away. "I should take exception to your slur, sir. Of course I have seen men wounded. But not you. Not you." My mouth twisted in self-contempt. "I don't even know what to do."

Nicholas shrugged, then grunted in pain. "Shit! Uhhh... No reason you should, if you never had to before. You were quite excellent, here. You were splendid in that little skirmish. We were splendid. We're both alive and mostly unhurt, and they're all probably dead. So, we make a good team together, hey?" He smiled then, and it was of such sweetness that I felt dizzy.

"I suppose we are, at that."

"Well then. I'm quite tired William, do you mind very much if I don't sleep on the floor tonight?" He stood and wobbled a bit, and I wrapped my arm around Nicholas' waist and helped him over to the bed, pulling the coverings over him.

"What?" I know I must have looked somewhat nonplussed.

"Well. That's what bodyguards do, sleep in front of the door. Right?" He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and grinned.

"Idiot. Is there anything I can get you?" I realized I was stroking Nicholas' hair, but I couldn't bring myself to stop.

"No, this is good, William, I'm good," Nicholas murmured.

I watched until Nicholas closed his eyes, and his breathing evened out. I sat at the table, and finally fell asleep with my head cradled in my arms.

**


	3. The Pillars of Hercules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Maelstrom](http://avierra.livejournal.com/25621.html). Many thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/profile)[**freeradical9**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/freeradical9/) and [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/smillaraaq/profile)[**smillaraaq**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/smillaraaq/) for all of their help, insight and comments in getting my chapters straightened around.

Part 1: [Scylla and Charybdis](http://avierra.livejournal.com/34704.html)

Part 2: [The Sea of Sargasso](http://avierra.livejournal.com/35249.html)

**Part 3: The Pillars of Hercules **

**   
**

I woke with a headache and a very sore arm. The stale, concentrated stench of sickly-sweet rum overlaid with the reek of the metallic, coppery smell of old blood was almost overpowering. And something else, something sweeter, added to the horrific mélange of odors, maybe the lavender of William’s fancy Castile soap? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I was thirsty and nauseous, and I would have given quite a lot for a nice cool draught of fruit juice, or even beer. And to add to all of it, William was staring at me pensively, his chin propped in his hand. I could practically _see_ the cogs turning in his pretty head, and I flopped back in the pillows and closed my eyes again. The horribly pure morning sun flooding in through the wide-open window seemed entirely too bright, shouts and yells surged up piercingly from the street below, and it was just way too early to have to deal with… well… pretty much anything.

“I opened the window up, but it hasn’t helped much, I am afraid.” William was still watching me in a disturbingly speculative fashion, I could tell. I wasn’t going to ask. “I washed out some bandages too. You should clean up.”

It was true, I saw with a quick glance; William had festooned the room with stained and torn tawdry linen ribbons, draping them over the edge of the table and the back of the chair to drip dry.

“You’ve been busy,” I finally managed, reluctantly opening my eyes all the way. “I could have helped you at least, if you had asked. Perhaps.” It rather shocked me that William of all people had done all that.

“Ah well, I didn’t want to wake you.” I snorted skeptically, but gently. Even my hair seemed to ache, somehow. William stood and held out his hand. “I was going to go get some breakfast. You look like you could use some as well?”

I grabbed William’s wrist and heaved myself out of bed, recoiling at the sudden motion. It wasn’t particularly my arm that was bothering me, although it was quite stiff and sore, and complained mightily when I moved my body. But I’ve had worse, and managed to carry on. No, it was also that my stomach and head were in open revolt, and for one hideous moment I really thought I was going to lose control and retch.

When I recovered myself I realized I was firmly seated at the table and William had placed clean clothing, fresh water and toilet items directly in front of me, the better so I couldn’t avoid seeing them, I supposed.

“Clean up, you’ll feel better,” William murmured. Do you need assistance?” I couldn’t help but notice William sounded decidedly… off... somehow.

“God, _no_…” I muttered. I reluctantly began attending to myself before William got any more ideas about helping me.

As it happened, William was a fucking liar. I didn’t feel better at all.

**

We had a decent breakfast, and by the end of it I felt almost human. Human enough, in fact, that I was in a mood to explore some of Nassau’s manifold charms. It might have been a bit early in the day for a game of _pochen_ or piquet, or even hazard, but I couldn’t help but feel itchy and restless after being cooped up for a week or so on a ship at sea, with absolutely nothing to look forward to but chores. I needed to get out and just _do_ something, anything.

I started to suggest that we venture about town, but a number of William’s crew and officers wandered in off the street for breakfast, and I couldn’t help but watch in quiet bemusement as William enthusiastically occupied himself with catching up on the intricacies of business and trade on the island. I got another cup of coffee and took myself off to another table so as not to interfere.

I sometimes twitted William for his gifts of analysis and his sharp eye for recognizing and seizing an opportunity, but I have always secretly rather enjoyed watching him at work, his long fingers tracing over maps of trade routes, his frighteningly agile mind rapidly ticking over possibilities and probabilities. He always looked so intense when he was plotting, his pretty face engrossed and rapt with his scheming. William completely outclassed me, I knew that. And I have never understood half of what William discussed at these sessions with his officers, but still, I have always taken a certain vicarious pride in William’s accomplishments.

I finished my coffee and decided to leave William to his business and perhaps continue exploring on my own, but William took note of my stirring and abruptly stood, tapping the maps and saying something I couldn’t quite hear. He grabbed his hat, and made his way over to me. “Are you finished with your coffee?” he asked, adjusting his hat and coat. I shrugged and rose, following William out of the tavern.

I could feel questioning eyes boring into my back, and I gritted my teeth hard, stepping out into the bright sunlight and striding down the dirt road, ignoring William for a couple of minutes.

He didn’t appear to notice, keeping pace and taking in some of the local sights and sounds: the throngs of sailors – some sober, even; a few ladies hanging enticingly out of windows or gossiping enthusiastically under the shade of an awning; merchants hawking their wares to unwary passersby; seagulls shrieking and diving down to pick at bits of garbage; men rolling hogsheads of goods down the dusty street. Above and around it all lay the restless ebb and flow of the sea. It might have been anywhere, really.

The fresh breeze swept away the last of the cobwebs in my head, and I finally slowed down to a normal pace. It was too hard to stay annoyed on such a beautiful day.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I muttered finally, darting a sideways look at William through my hair.

William shrugged. “You wanted to leave, didn’t you?”

I raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You… are a piece of work sometimes. You know they’re all wondering about us now.”

William shrugged again, his eyes focused on something in the distance. “I don’t pay them to think about my personal life. I pay them to do what I want. If they don’t wish to do that, or if they have a problem with how I conduct myself, they can find another berth, and good luck to them. It’s all the same to me.” His voice was calm and pleasant, but with an undercurrent of steel.

I stopped short and stared, aghast. “Have you taken leave of your senses? You work with those people! You can’t… you shouldn’t put your…” I paused, staring in incoherent frustration at William’s politely inquiring face, and clutched at his silk-covered arm. “Listen. You have the world in the palm of your hand. You have a future, a brilliant future, in all likelihood. Don’t risk all that for… some stupid, worthless scandal.”

“You didn’t care if Gráinne knew,” William said meditatively, flicking a bit of lint off his sleeve. He resumed his sedate pace, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Gráinne! She would never do anything to hurt me,” I retorted, surprised. “Why do you mention her? She’s… she’s like a mother to me.” We had reached the outskirts of town by this time, and I could see the road continued on amidst scrubby palms and delicate, fragrant pink flowers, and further on into greenly lush forest.

William smiled and turned, walking towards our lodging. “You worry too much, Nicholas.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Take a look around you. Have you noticed anything about the people in this part of the world?”

I stared at him. That’s one of his little quirks, to ask a question and expect you to know the answer as if you’re some sort of philosopher. As a general rule it usually means I have no idea where the devil he’s going with his train of thought. “What? Nothing, they’re just people,” I said, waiting for his index finger to come out to underscore my lack of insight.

William sighed impatiently. “That’s true, of course. But imagine you have an untamed wilderness you need to pacify. Who do you bring to get things under control: men, and lots of them; or the fair sex, whose berth on board a ship could be used for bringing other men? What happens when the numbers of one gender far outweighs that of the other?”

“So then! Just spell it out, William! You think it’s fine, that people don’t care? It’s a hanging offense, isn’t it?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice, as toleration of other people’s private business went against pretty much everything that I’d come to know of human nature. But. I _had_ noticed there were many more men than women in the New World… in fact while Bermuda hadn’t been particularly bad in that respect compared with other places I had visited out here, Nassau was populated by almost all men, that was very true. And what few women there were, were not exactly fine and genteel ladies, so to speak.

“I do think it’s fine, as it happens. Do you?” He raised an eyebrow at me and continued. “But no. I am saying that… generally… people understand the realities of the situation, especially sailors, who are forced by their circumstances to spend a lot of time in the company of other men. This isn’t England, you know.”

As if I didn’t thank Jesus, Mary, the Holy Ghost, and all the saints for it, every single day.

“Anyway,” he said very blandly, “were you really somehow under the impression that the crew didn’t have a notion -- after we spent a week and a half together in my quarters after we first met?”

“Oh Mother of God…” was all I could think of to say. I hadn’t thought about it at all, actually, having been wrapped up in the moment back then, and afterwards too, and I could feel scalding heat sweeping up my cheeks.

William laughed and patted my shoulder. “But just as you say, Nicholas. I would never take a risk over something stupid and worthless.” He resumed strolling towards our rooms.

“Well then. Good,” I said uncertainly, matching his pace. “What do you want to do? Should we wander around a bit and see if we can track down O’Neill? Look and see what we might find at some of the… businesses around? It’s a bit early to try and find entertainment, I think.”

“Oh, no, I have come to the conclusion that asking about him directly is not going to work. I was considering seeing if I could find word of him elsewhere, perhaps in Saint Thomas or Tortuga.” He thought a bit as we walked, his voice growing a bit distant. “Actually, Saint Thomas might be particularly interesting to check for him, as it is allied with the Danes, and not English, French or Spanish. But I was told he operated out of Nassau. It is a bit of a quandary.”

“Are those bolts of silk really worth all this trouble? They’re pretty, but they’re just silk in the end.”

“Probably not,” William admitted, pausing briefly before the inn’s front door, “but then, you already know that’s not why we’re here. Also, I’ve already expended a lot of money to come here, so I might as well make some good use of the effort. I’m meeting with some of the men tomorrow for breakfast since not everyone was there today, and we’ll make a final decision then.” He pushed into the relative coolness inside and proceeded upstairs to our room.

“Ah well then, I wonder if I could find a game or two after supper tonight. You could join me, if you cared to?” I suggested. In the meantime, the afternoon stretched out ahead of me. Of course, I could always think of a few ways to while away a few hours. William was capable of quite remarkable feats of self-control; he certainly had been during the voyage here… because of his duties on the ship, I supposed. But I thought perhaps I might talk him around. Even with his wretched books to distract him.

“I think not, I believe I’ll catch up on _Pseudodoxia Epidemica_.” Or then again… perhaps not, I thought with some regret. “You might enjoy that one also, actually, if you are bored, it’s all about--’’ he abruptly fell silent and stopped short at the door to our room.

“How very dramatic,” William said, after a moment, frowning at a tiny dirk pinning a wax-sealed scroll of paper to the door.

“What in the seven hells…” I began, staring at the little display. “What does it say?”

William ripped down the note and pried the dirk from the door, squinting his eyes to read it in the semi-darkness of the hallway.

 

My Dear Cap’t Scarcliffe,

I was truly Quiat Sadden’d to have missed Tendering my Regardes this Fine Morning.

It was with the Greatest of Astonishm’t and indeed Pleshure that I Enjoy’d y’r Merrie Dance and Anticks in the Publick Streets. Perhaps it is Time we Met, as you have made Quiat Free with My Name about Towne, and I presentlie find myself Utterlie Awash with Curiositie.

If you Care for Itt, we take Supp’r at Bailies. We find he has Quiat a Way with ye Fishe. I will attend there this Even’g with some of my Crewe. I Quiat look forward to Making Y’r Acquaintanse.

Y’r Most Humble, Most Obed’t Sv’t,

Cap’t Hew O’Neill

 

William’s expression was calm, but his jawline had gone rigid, and unease shivered down my spine. Sometimes I could sense a deep, smoldering anger – perhaps even rage -- that William kept tightly suppressed and leashed deep within himself. I didn’t know what caused such fury, but I occasionally wondered what would happen if William ever let that part of himself go wild. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be there when it happened.

Still, I couldn’t help but laugh as I read the note over William’s shoulder.

“Ah. The sarcasm wounds. Shall we meet him tonight, then?” I bit my bottom lip to keep from grinning.

“You could have been killed.” William crushed the slip of paper in his hand, his knuckles white.

I shrugged, wincing as I momentarily forgot the pain in my shoulder. William’s overly-perceptive eyes hardened further. “Well, I wasn’t,” I said shortly. “What did you expect? He’s the captain of a pirate ship, did you somehow think he wasn’t going to be an utter bastard?”

“No. I already knew he was.” William flung the door open and slammed it shut behind me. “He doesn’t admit to it in this, but I’ll warrant he set up the whole thing.” His voice was cool and precise, but he threw the crumpled note down onto the table with an abrupt, jerky motion, then hurled the dirk at it, pinning it in place. I couldn’t help but be impressed; I had had no idea he could do that.

“Quite probably, but who cares. Let’s finish our business with him and be off.” I tossed my swordbelt and coats over the chair and fanned myself ineffectually with my hat, hoping to distract William from his pique. “I hate to say so, but I am beginning to think even Bermuda is better than here. Fucking heat.”

“Mmm.” William seemed deeply engrossed in thought for a moment, then he stared straight at me with that odd assessing look, his smile sharp. “So then, you think I am an utter bastard?” He stalked forward, pinning me to the wall. His arm went out along my shoulder, his fingers tangling deeply in my hair.

I grinned, breathed a small sigh of relief, and slouched back, letting my legs fall open. “You’re the one keeps telling me you aren’t a pirate, hey? Besides, I don’t think you’re an _utter_ bastard.”

“I see. How delightfully ambiguous.” The corner of William’s mouth twitched up appreciatively and he leaned forward, pressing the full length of his body against me, his lips light and tantalizing at the base of my throat. “We would seem to have the rest of the day ahead of us...” His free hand traced idly up my side, brushing as if by accident against my nipple.

I gasped, and I suddenly felt almost lightheaded. “It’s been a long time,” I whispered somewhat reproachfully.

“A bit over a week?” William teased, and I could tell he was smiling.

“That’s a long time for me, William.” I curled my fingers around the back of William’s neck and stroked gently, encouraging him to continue.

“Ah well then, I suppose I will have to do my best to make it up to you.” William’s lips brushed butterfly-light just below my ear, while his long fingers delved into the front of my breeches.

“Quite,” I managed breathlessly.

**

I woke much later feeling a little sore and bruised; I suspected that we had both been a trifle carried away, so it probably _had_ been too long. I looked over at Nicholas, still peacefully sleeping, his arm thrown over my waist. I must have twitched or moved, because Nicholas woke and looked up at me with sleep-bleary eyes.

“William,” Nicholas murmured, clutching me more tightly and preparing to fall back asleep. Then his eyes snapped open, focusing on my face. “Goddammit. Why do you keep _staring_ at me like that?”

“I didn’t know I was staring at you. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience?” I offered after a moment of consideration.

Nicholas sat up, sleepy and confused. “About what?”

“Hmmm. Well, I had ample time after you fell asleep last night to think about the sequence of events, and I can only come to the conclusion that you deliberately took a hit for me.”

“And so?” Nicholas smoothed the sheets over his legs, allowing his hair to fall forward over his face. He sounded unrepentant. More importantly, he sounded as if he didn’t think there was anything to be repentant about.

“Have I given you some reason to think I can’t take care of myself, Nicholas?” I could hear the tiniest thread of irritation creeping into my voice, and made a strong effort to crush it into submission.

“Ah. Well, you were the one who told me you were in dire need of a bodyguard, were you not?”

“Piqued and repiqued, I see,” I said, my voice and thoughts arid as the winds of the Sahara.

“It can’t _possibly_ be that you don’t actually need one at all.” Nicholas looked at me from the corner of his eye, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Mmmm.” Which wasn’t an answer, but it was all the answer that I was prepared to provide at that point.

“Well, actually, I just wanted you to get far enough back so you could start shooting at them. Which you did. There wasn’t time to do much else, was there?” Nicholas’ voice sounded eminently, infuriatingly reasonable.

“I don’t want you risking yourself like that again.” I knew my voice sounded hard. I didn’t care.

There was a long silence during which I pinched tiny pleats into the sheets while Nicholas digested that. “You expect me to let you get hurt, even if I could easily prevent it? Well, I am sorry to disoblige you, William,” he said in an odiously cool tone, “but I am not going to do that.”

I inhaled deeply, affronted. I hadn’t expected an outright flat refusal, and somehow I had forgotten that Nicholas occasionally manifested a streak of profound obstinacy. “That was not a request, Nicholas.” The edge was creeping back into my voice.

Nicholas shrugged and winced, rubbing his arm, and I suppressed a strong urge to shake him until his teeth rattled. “I’m not one of your crewmen, William,” Nicholas responded, airily waving an elegant hand to underscore his defiance. Nicholas seemed to be striving for breezy nonchalance in his responses, but I could tell he was unnerved. He shrugged again.

“I could have you thrown in the brig for the entire time of our stay here,” I muttered finally.

“That’s entirely up to you, William, I suppose. Or, for once – and a pleasant change -- you could perhaps just tell me why this is bothering you so much.” He reached over and took my hand and raised it to his beautiful mouth, kissing the knuckles. “I don’t want to fight with you. I can think of much better things to do with you, hey?” He brushed the tip of his tongue delicately down the length of my fingers, nibbling at the pads.

I took a deep breath, refusing to be distracted. Which was not easy with Nicholas sucking on my fingers in a rather provocative fashion. “Do you remember back when we first met… You told me that you didn’t give a shit, that you didn’t care what happened to you. It occurs to me to wonder if your continual heedlessness and recklessness is a manifestation of that mindset.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes, but he reached over and caressed the side of my face, gently stroking his thumb over my cheek and lips. “Reckless and heedless, is it? And “continual” with it?” he scoffed. “But really…” he sat up and appeared to be thinking back, his fingers absently tracing circles on my inner wrist. “Eh well. Maybe I meant it, back then. Doesn’t mean I think that now, hey? I don’t... things are different now, all right?”

I twined our fingers together and turned my head to kiss his palm. “Then good, that’s good,” I murmured, and for the first time since last night I felt tension and doubt beginning to ebb from my body.

“Are you entirely exhausted, William?” Nicholas smiled and pulled me on top of him and into his arms, his long fingers continuing to caress soothingly down my back. “No? Then come here, we have a few more hours to ourselves, don’t we, and I have enough ideas for the both of us.”


	4. The Cauldron of the Speckled Seas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [Maelstrom](http://avierra.livejournal.com/25621.html). Many, many thanks to [](http://freeradical9.livejournal.com/profile)[**freeradical9**](http://freeradical9.livejournal.com/) for continuing to read and critique.

Part 1: [Scylla and Charybdis](http://avierra.livejournal.com/34704.html)

Part 2: [The Sea of Sargasso](http://avierra.livejournal.com/35249.html)

Part 3: [The Pillars of Hercules](http://avierra.livejournal.com/36865.html)

Part 4: **The Cauldron of the Speckled Seas **

The sun was finally beginning to set, bringing with it the promise of cooler, pleasantly-scented evening breezes wafting in from the interior of the island, bearing the scents of growing things and evening flowers. I could hear the sounds of the night floating up from the street below Nicholas’ and my window: the catcalls to and from the town’s ladies, and the clatter of supply wagons and hogsheads rolling up to the inn – sounds at once familiar and oddly repellant.

For a second a wave of homesickness washed over me, and I closed my eyes. It wasn’t that I missed my family and home, _per se_, it was more the _idea_ of Bermuda that I missed: the smell of the ocean after an afternoon storm, the way the fragrance of flowers drifted through the air, the roofs of the pastel stone houses shining white and pristine in the bright sunshine. This place… was not like that, at all.

I smoothed my brocade coats and watched Nicholas finish getting dressed, trying not to let my eyes linger.

 

“We want to make a lavish impression, Nicholas, so do try to look the part. We wouldn’t wish to appear as if we couldn’t afford to actually purchase his goods.”

“Fine, fine.” Nicholas sounded a trifle annoyed as he tied his bright hair back into a queue, jerked the skirts of his black wool coats into place, and adjusted the lace of his cravat and cuffs, and I couldn’t help but smile. Nicholas would look beautiful if he were dressed in rags, but it never hurt to play one’s part to the hilt.

“I am endeavoring to get into the proper frame of mind for this encounter,” I drawled apologetically, waving my hand languidly at him. “Perhaps I should borrow your fan.”

He made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh. “I humbly beg your pardon that I didn’t foresee the necessity of bringing it along. Anything else to bear in mind?”

“Oh no, just be yourself,” I said, very sweetly.

Nicholas grinned suddenly. “Oho, like that, is it? Well, then, anything you would like for me to say… or not?”

I briefly considered. I actually had no idea what to expect from the pirate contingent, except perhaps general unruliness. “Hmmm. I can’t think of anything in particular. Mostly, just keep your ears open in case any of them say anything interesting. They probably already know you can speak English and Gaelic, but since they are pirates, I’ll wager at least some of them speak French or Spanish also.”

Nicholas sat on the edge of the bed and stared meaningfully at me. “William, if you want me to be your advance while you sit back and plot, that is fine, and I don’t mind that… but don’t you think I should know what we’re doing, at this point?”

“Mmm. Yes, I suppose the situation has changed somewhat.” I adjusted the pistols I had strung around my neck so they were precisely spaced.

“Bear in mind that I received all of this information at least second or third hand, but I _think_ I have managed to untangle the story.” I sat at the table and stared off into space, thinking back. “Well, to make a long story short, a highly-placed gentleman of my acquaintance asked me to look into the disappearance of his daughter. His daughter had been traveling in the Far East, around India I believe, and she had been keeping him apprised of her adventures. He told me she wanted to write a book about the things she had done, and the things she had seen.” I couldn’t help but feel a frisson of despondence that that book would almost certainly never be written. I would have read it. “Those two lengths of silk I have now were part of a cargo impounded by… the gentleman I mentioned… and he recognized it at once. He told me that his daughter had become friends with a princess in India. It was a gift to her, to symbolize their friendship. The fabric is fairly distinctive, I think you’ll agree.”

“At any rate,” I continued after a moment, “the cargo and vessel belonged to O’Neill, or so this gentleman was informed upon interrogating the crew. And so he contacted me some time ago, before I met you, even, about the possibility of looking into what became of his daughter, and how Captain O’Neill came to have these very special and valuable pieces of silk.”

“As for the lady herself, well, he naturally wishes to locate his daughter, if possible. But really, I am certain this gentleman fears the worst. It has been some time, after all. And I haven’t been able to determine much of anything regarding O’Neill himself or his various _modi operandi _that might help me, except that typically Captain O’Neill operates around the Caribbean.”

“So, the lady has vanished?” Nicholas frowned. “And… Was she traveling alone then? I can’t imagine such a thing. Weren’t there servants with her?”

“Hmm. Yes, there must have been servants, I would imagine. I wasn’t told anything about them, however.”

Nicholas snorted contemptuously. I was beginning to thing that perhaps I should have related this story to Nicholas earlier, regardless of my need for discretion. He always has had a way of cutting to the chase and seeing things that I do not. I hadn’t considered that _of course_ a lady of her stature would not be travelling alone.

“The lady has vanished, as have the servants,” I nodded at him, “and frankly, I am not very sanguine about their survival. I can’t imagine that O’Neill, if it were he, would have any reason whatsoever to keep her alive. Most pirates don’t treat their captives well. Perhaps if he had known who she was… but then again, perhaps not. Captain O’Neill seems given to precipitate action.” I felt the familiar burn of anger rising within me, and my eyes flicked briefly to Nicholas.

“This is all very interesting, and I can see why you would be intrigued, but... William, why you?” Nicholas lounged back on the bed. “Mild-mannered privateer-merchant that you are.”

I smiled very slightly. “Ah well. I do have a bit of a reputation in some circles. Perhaps you were unaware.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, and I couldn’t help but be surprised by what seemed to be genuine curiosity. Nicholas had made his thoughts plain about my profession on several occasions, and I hadn’t really thought he had much interest beyond that. “Really? A reputation as a privateer?”

“Well no. More like… someone who gets things done.”

“Ah, I see.” Nicholas was silent after that, his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling.

“Is something troubling you, Nicholas?” I asked into the stillness that followed my comment. I hadn’t really thought it was much of a revelation, but Nicholas frequently saw matters in a much different light than I did.

“No.” He looked at me and smiled ruefully. “Well. Just… we really don’t know each other very well, do we?”

“Actually… I was thinking something along the same lines, just last night, before we were attacked,” I said pensively, watching him.

He rose and strapped on his sword belt, with its scabbards for his _colichemarde_ and his dagger, making sure he could easily reach it them. I could see by the careful way that he moved that his arm and shoulder were still quite stiff, and I hoped it would be unnecessary for him to have to make use of his weapons.  With any luck, our making it quite plain that our weapons were evident and readily available would probably go a long ways towards making sure that everyone remained more or less polite.

“Oh? And what were you thinking about?” He allowed his hair to fall forward over his face, as he always did when he was attempting to conceal his thoughts.

“I wondered if you liked to go sailing, and I realized I didn’t know.”

He looked up at that and laughed. “Well, _I_ don’t know either. To be honest, I never heard of someone sailing for pleasure alone.”

“I have it on excellent authority that I am notably eccentric,” I said with a solemn expression. “Perhaps I should have mentioned.” I took his hand and kissed the inside of his wrist, letting his fingers curl into my hair.

“Ah well, as to that… I am nearly certain I knew it already.” He smiled at me almost shyly, but with genuine warmth, his thumb tracing along my cheekbone. “Did you get the hosteller’s boy to get your crew together? I don’t relish going to this place with just us.”

“Indeed so, they have been apprised and are supposed to meet us there.”

Nicholas opened the door and held it open. “Well then, after you, Captain.”

**

Nassau was in many ways a town built of hovels, tents and shacks, and Bailey’s turned out to be a prime example of the prevailing style of architecture, constructed of old sails and large pieces of canvas, ships timbers and rigging, and strategically placed rocks and bits of limestone.

The canvas on one side of the “building” had been flipped up and opened towards the beach. As we entered the enclosure we could see crates and barrels of numerous types of beverages: beer, rum, and even wine, although I would hesitate to drink any wine that had been sitting around here in the heat. Still, I supposed they could use it for vinegar. On the beach several large grills sizzled with various types of fruit and fish in the barbecue style, and cook fires with suspended cauldrons bubbled away. I had no idea what was cooking, but I had to admit, it smelled wonderful, and I realized I was quite hungry.

A number of rough tables had been placed under palm trees, as were accompanying benches and upended barrels that served as chairs. Lively music drifted towards us, and I could see quartet of musicians seated under a tree: a drummer of some sort, keeping time; a fiddler; a harpist; and a flute player… although I wasn’t altogether certain about that since his instrument appeared to be made of metal.

In the course of my sailing I had come across citizens of diverse nationalities, but I couldn’t ascertain where two of them were from. The man playing the drum was probably in his late teens, dark-skinned, dark-haired and whipcord lean. Maybe from the East Indies? His teeth were very white as he smiled at the flute player, his eyes laughing as if they shared a private joke. The flute player was the other mystery: he was also probably in his late teens and his build was very slight, almost delicate; lightly dusky skin; and very fair hair that contrasted oddly with his complexion. He had beautiful eyes, but so angry: his expression pulled into a perpetual scowl as he played. The other odd thing about him was that, unlike nearly all the other sailors around him, he was fully and formally dressed.

I guessed that the harper was probably Irish; I knew that they were famed for their abilities with that instrument. And I thought the fiddler was also Irish or maybe Scottish, based simply on his fair, sunburned skin and reddish coloring.

The entire group of musicians seemed to be quite proficient and enthusiastic, and I enjoyed their efforts, although I was unfamiliar with the tunes. I recalled something I had been told at one point, that pirates generally spared musicians when they came across them in their forays so that they could increase morale aboard the ship. At any rate, the ambience was surprisingly pleasant, almost party-like, and I noted a number of my crew had already obtained food and seated themselves. There were two obvious camps of people, but no visible tension.

I grabbed a pewter plate and took a slice of fish and some fruit and had a seat. Nicholas sat down and scanned the crowd around us. One of his long legs jiggled restlessly, and I had to forcibly prevent myself from reaching over and mashing his foot to the floor.

Captain O’Neill had been right about one thing, though. The food really was delicious, shellfish, shrimp, crabs and all different types of fish and grilled with tropical fruit. Even Bermuda didn’t quite possess that sort of bounty.

**

I finished up, while Nicholas nursed his beer. We had been there nearly an hour, with no sign of the elusive captain. I was familiar with this tactic, and I had no desire whatsoever to play that sort of game, and nor did I have the slightest interest in dancing to the tune of a pirate, as if I was some sort of lovelorn suitor. If O’Neill had no desire to conduct a business transaction, that was his loss, and I had other, if much less subtle, means of determining the information I wanted. I am not one to suffer either fools or time-wasters with any degree of pleasure. So, I was quite annoyed and quite ready to leave, when a Personage swept in with his entourage in his wake.

You have to understand. Captain O’Neill was one of those people that immediately draws the eye. He was extremely tall, well over six feet and broad-shouldered with it, slim-hipped, golden-haired, laughing blue eyes. A veritable Adonis, in fact, and I could well imagine he found his looks quite useful at times. The charisma seemed to ooze from him in waves. And yet, despite his apparent warmth, there seemed to me to be something at the core of him that was icy cold and hard. I recognized in him that aspect of my own personality. So… we were two of a kind, in that respect, and because I recognized him, I knew that he was far more dangerous than he appeared.

Nicholas and I had been seated at one of the few makeshift tables, and when O’Neill arrived, the rest of my crew arranged themselves behind us in a sort of protective phalanx. O’Neill and his first mate – O’Donnell—seated themselves facing us, and his crew, including the musicians clustered behind him.

I could smell him from where I was seated: an odd, earthy fragrance, but almost sweet underneath it all. Part of it was sandalwood, but there was something else as well, something that smelled of herbs and green. It wasn’t that he smelled _bad_, oh no, that wouldn’t have matched at all with the way he presented himself. But there was an almost tangible cloud of scent surrounding him.

Nicholas was uncharacteristically still, his hair drifting down around his face as he stared fixedly at his hands folded in front of him on the table, and I couldn’t help but feel a brief pang of concern for him.  It was harder on him, listening to the Gaelic chatter around him, and being surrounded by his countrymen, than I would have believed. When he had first heard the music, he had taken a deep breath, his face soft and almost… lost. But nevertheless, we were here now, and he had a job to do. And I appreciated that he was doing it.

I heard, “Neek?” in a stunned voice from the pirate side, and then Nicholas slowly looked up and across, and he turned so white I thought he might faint. But he stayed seated; his hands remained folded in front of him, his features composed into a polite mask. I couldn’t help but be intrigued. It always took me by complete surprise when Nicholas troubled himself to outwardly display composure and self-control. I had rarely seen him bother to do so.

Except, I remembered suddenly, when he had last visited me at my parent’s home. He had been utterly furious then, and I had been the only one who had known. That was only just over a fortnight ago, but it seemed as though ages had passed since then.

O’Donnell was the one who had spoken, and was just as pale as Nicholas. He darted an uncertain glance to Captain O’Neill, who was currently engaged in watching Nicholas, his expression arrested. I recognized that expression, and I sincerely prayed that no one had ever seen that blatantly hungry, intent look on my own face. The fact that he looked at Nicholas like that, especially after all he had done, made me quietly seethe.

I suddenly realized with full certainty, without him ever having spoken a word, that I did not like Captain O’Neill. And not only did I not like him, I would never have liked him, even had we met under other circumstances. But, it was O’Donnell in whom I was currently interested: another tall one, his dark hair braided back. His eyes were very, very blue, almost fascinating in their intensity.

Nicholas said, very evenly, “Shawn,” and nodded at him. O’Neill smiled then, and I was strongly reminded of the times I had seen sharks circling around after blood had fallen into the water.

O’Donnell spoke rapidly to O’Neill, who nodded and turned, speaking Gaelic directly to Nicholas, his voice sonorous and mellifluous. Of course it would be, I thought savagely. What really interested me though, was the tide of red that swept slowly up Nicholas’ cheeks, leaving angry patches along his cheekbones. Nicholas didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened as he clasped his hands. He didn’t say anything though, just listened. The angry red patches at his cheeks darkened, and his mouth twisted into a grim line. O’Donnell looked confused and distressed, looking at his captain as though he had sprouted a second head.

O’Neill spoke to Nicholas again and smiled at me, with a hint of teeth.

Nicholas looked over at me and gestured, and looked back at O’Neill then spoke again. I caught something about “Illeeam Scarcliff,” so I supposed he was introducing me, but he seemed unsure what to do next. O’Neill smiled again, and I knew what he was doing, as sure as if he had announced it, with his cat and mouse games and his sly comments which Nicholas was not translating for me. I kept my expression bland and fatuous, though. If O’Neill wanted to play games, he was welcome to do so. I am more the type of person who is perfectly happy to sit back and supply a man with enough rope with which to hang himself, and the more I could watch him in action, the more information I had at my disposal. So I listened to him torment Nicholas for a bit, and then suddenly Nicholas began translating.

“You speak pretty English pretty flash. I’ve heard you. You still speak Gaelic, boy? Why aren’t you telling him what I’m saying?” that was clearly something O’Neill had said. Nicholas’ voice was impassive.

“Never let it be said that Brendan O’Cleary couldn’t see which way the wind was blowing,” Nicholas continued in the same flat tone. He paused, and O’Neill said something else, except he actually sounded interested in the answer, and Nicholas responded.

“O’Cleary, eh? Your Da? Shawn tells me you’re a Gallowglass.”

“Brendan O’Cleary is my Da, yes. My Captain is here to conduct a transaction with you. This is nothing to do with that.”

O’Neill rubbed his chin, and spoke again, and Nicholas responded with a small, twisted smile. O’Neill and most of his crew laughed, but Shawn O’Donnell looked even more distressed… and sad.

“The O’Clearys managed to hang on to what’s theirs a little longer than most. How’d he do that?”

“Ah well, never let it also be said that Brendan O’Cleary couldn’t kiss English ass when he had to.”

O’Neill looked as if he had scented blood, and spoke again, his smile mocking, and I could tell he had slid the knife home.

The color surged in his face, and Nicholas gritted his teeth and translated, but I could tell it cost him dearly.

“Like father, like son, eh?”

Nicholas turned to me and slapped his fist down on the table and snarled, “Captain Scarcliff, he has no intention of trading with you.  This is just games and bullshit. This is a fucking waste of your time.” His accent was thick and unrestrained, so much so that I had a difficult time understanding him. O’Donnell was looking back and forth between Nicholas and his captain, his expression almost comically horrified. He grabbed his captain’s sleeve and muttered at him, his tone urgent.

O’Neill shook him off and sat back in his chair and smiled that reptilian smile at me, and said in perfect English, “Ah, I see your puppy barks. Does he bite, I wonder?” He ran his eyes over Nicholas again, and I could not help but bristle. Suddenly I was glad for the growing darkness and the concealment of all my coats and clothing.

I raised an eyebrow, but before I could say a word, Nicholas sprang out of his seat and held his fingers out in a beckoning gesture, his smile wild and glittering, his hair loose around his face. “Come find out, you bastard.” He didn’t translate it, but obviously he didn’t really need to at this point.

“Hey, hey, steady on there, Young Nick,” said the deep, growling voice of Colin MacIver, my own first mate. Behind me I felt, rather than saw, his large, heavy hand descend on Nicholas’ shoulder. Whether in support or control, I didn’t know, maybe both. I could tell my own crew was growing restive. Most of them liked Nicholas to one degree or another, and it must have gone hard, listening to the commentary, especially for the Scots like MacIver and a few other of the crew. I knew some of them were more than a little bit in sympathy with some of Nicholas’ political beliefs, and I wondered how much they had understood of what was being said.

As I watched Captain O’Neill toy with Nicholas, I silently swore that there would be retribution, for all of O’Neill’s various sins.

“Have a seat, Mister Gallowglass,” I said quietly. It was the first I had spoken in the entire exchange. Nicholas threw himself into his seat and clutched his hair in his fists, his teeth gritted.

“You know, I’ve heard it said about the gallowglass, that they have a touch of the Fair Folk in them, and that’s why they were such fierce fighters. Or maybe they just have a touch of the devil in them. I’ve heard that too. Any truth to that, eh?” O’Neill looked really interested in the answer.

“What in the fucking hell?” muttered Nicholas incredulously, but he looked up, and he smiled a grim little smile. “Well, my Mam would agree with you, no doubt.”

There were a few snickers, but I could see Shawn O’Donnell give Nicholas another anxious look. It wasn’t at all like O’Neill’s fulsome glances.

“Also I have heard that they bring luck to those who are fortunate enough to employ them.” O’Neill was sitting back in his chair, his eyes hooded, eying me speculatively.

“Ah well, you couldn’t prove it by me. Seems it didn’t stop us being attacked for no good reason in the middle of the fu... in the middle of the street. Does this have anything at all to do with trading?” Nicholas made a valiant effort to bring things back on track.

“Not a bit, not a bit. Idle curiosity, my boy.” He sat back in his chair and smirked, and Nicholas gritted his teeth again.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten the exchange of pleasantries out of the way, perhaps we can get down to business? Or was Mister Gallowglass correct, and you are not interested in making some coin?” I allowed my voice to sound bored and indifferent, as if his answer was not particularly important to me, either way.

“On the contrary, Captain Scarcliff. I enjoy making coin just as much as the next man,” O’Neill responded, all unctuously pleasant. Interesting… O’Donnell had exhaled and relaxed infinitesimally at that assertion. So they were in need of money.

“Excellent,” I smiled. I drew one of the lengths of silk out of my pocket and placed it on the table in front of me.

O’Neill raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” But for the first time, he sounded the tiniest bit uncertain. He sat back in his chair and folded his hands on the table.

“Well, the merchant in Saint Thomas from whom I bought this length of silk seemed to think you might either have other pieces like this, or know where I could get some more.”

“Saint Thomas?” He bit his lip, and his brow lowered, and I could tell he was thinking… wondering (as I had meant him to) if the crew he had sent out to sell that cargo so long ago had betrayed him in order to line their own pockets. Despite assertions to the contrary, there’s not actually any honor among thieves. Or pirates either. His reaction did surprise me a bit though, because I had heard that O’Neill’s crewmen were almost fanatically loyal to him.

“Well… do you have more of it, or am I wasting my time?” I asked with some asperity, putting pressure on him to give in.

He licked his lips and seemed to come to a decision. “Aye, I do have more. And other colors as well. Anything else you are interested in, as long as you’re buying?”

“Hmmmm. Charts, of course.”

He laughed at that, and waved a hand dismissively. “No charts. I was not born yesterday, sir.”

“It was just a thought.” I smiled, just as if I was a merchant trying to pull a fast one on bumpkin, and had been caught out at it. “Well then, how about books?”

“Books, aye. If you like, we’ll make a list of what we have that you might find of interest. Also, I need to discuss this with the rest of my crew. I don’t make the final decision -- that rests among my men. Give me three days for everyone to make arrangements and decide on pricing. And do you get your funds lined up.”

“Very well. By the by, Captain O’Neill. Might I ask where you came by that silk? It’s utterly beautiful, and I have never seen anything like it.”

“Eh.” He thought about it a bit. “We were hard by Ceylon, as I recall. Hard to remember, we were all about between India and Madagascar around that time.”

“Ah well, a bit out of my way, I fear.” I rose. “I will return in three days, and we can make final arrangements at that time. Is that our agreement?”

“Aye it is.” He rose and paused. “If I may, a question of my own. You have gone to some effort to track me down. Why this silk, and no other?”

That was a cogent question, and I resolved not to underestimate Captain O’Neill. He was neither stupid nor naïve, and he was clearly still suspicious.

“Oh,” I said. “I just like owning pretty things.” I smiled at him.

“Aye, I as well,” he muttered, and his eyes drifted to Nicholas, whose head was still buried in his hands.

“Three days then.” I pretended I didn’t understand what he meant, and I bowed at him, and sauntered out.

**

“Nick! Nick, wait!” I had risen from my chair, and was preparing to follow William out and back to our room. All I wanted to do was get fucking drunk, following what had to be one of the most excruciating experiences of my life. I had told William I would be up for being his point, but I hadn’t expected all of that, at all, and I hadn’t helped him achieve his goals in the slightest, as far as I could tell. And I hadn’t even translated the half of it, that was the worst of it. There were no Irish in William’s crew, of course, but I wondered how much the Scottish crewmembers had understood of my humiliation. Although…. upon reflection, it was probably best that I didn’t know.

But instead, I waited when I heard Seán calling out to me. I needed to talk to him. I hadn’t seen him in so long, my cousin and my best friend from what seemed to me to be a lifetime ago. In fact, I hadn’t really dared to hope he might still be alive.

“Eh Seán!” I made an effort to smile at him, but my face felt stiff and unnatural. He opened his arms up, and I went to him and hugged him, and felt his arms tighten around me as well and squeeze hard, until he held me out at arm’s length and looked at me from head to foot.

“You’ve grown, you tiny thing,” he grinned. “You’ll have to tell me all about what’s happened in the last seven years, hey?”

“Too much to tell in one sitting. You too, I am thinking.” I looked him over. He seemed to be doing all right, though there were lines in his face and shadows in his eyes that had not been there the last time I had seen him. It had seemed like such a good idea to the both of us at the time, heading off to war.

“I’m sorry about all that, Nick, I have no idea what got into him. He’s not like that, really.” He sounded truly distressed, and I wondered how in the hell Seán O´ Domhnaill, the scourge of the maidens of Donegal, ended up as the first mate of a fucking pirate ship.

“S’Fine, it wasn’t you said all that shit.” I shrugged.

“He’s a cousin to us also, you know. I didn’t realize at first, but we got to talking and figured it out.” I had forgotten how interested Seán was in all that shit. He’d used to blather on forever about all the kings in our family. As if their blood was a different color than everyone else’s.

“Ah, that’s… that’s wonderful, it is. I do so love having fucking assholes as members of my family.” Seán frowned at that, but made a valiant recovery.

“We should go find somewhere to talk, I have some things to tell you.” We wandered away from the rest of the pirates and the privateers, who were actually mingling rather companionably at that point, the rum and beer having washed away their shyness.

“So then, Young Nick, how would you feel about joining us?” he asked, very casual-like.

I knew my eyes were probably goggling. “_What_?” I blurted.

He looked around, and his voice lowered. “We’re going back, and we’re going back with a prince of the blood at our head.” He sounded reverent, as if he was talking about a fucking god.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about? A prince of the blood? There aren’t any more fucking princes, they’re all dead, you idiot.” I couldn’t stand to listen to this, couldn’t believe that Seán, whom I had looked up to for my entire life, had bought into this… this opium dream. I felt like ripping out my hair.

“No, they’re not. They’re not. He’s of the true line. And that’s why we’re doing… what we’re doing.” I could tell how that shamed him, but I couldn’t resist a dig.

“Ah well then, good. As long as the ends justify the means, Seán,” I said, very dry.

“You are such a prick sometimes.” He glared at me, and it was like there hadn’t been seven years between now and the last time we had spoken. “Look you. We’re building an army, and we’re slowly but surely getting the money to finance this thing. We’ll kick out or kill those Sasanach bastards, tear down the plantations, and give everyone back their land. Most of our sailors fought in the war, and there are thousands more in France and Spain, just waiting for the word, and the right leader.”

“Seán, listen to yourself.” I was aghast. “It’s over, it’s fucking over. Anything you do now is going to make it fucking worse, for everyone who can’t leave. And your “prince” should know that better than most, since it was him and his that got the shitball rolling downhill in the first place. Right before they ran off and left all the rest of us holding the fucking bag. Jesus _Christ._”

I clutched my hair until my eyes teared. I needed to hurt something, and at this point, I didn’t much care if it was a person.

He drew back from me and regarded me as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “So then, you are not going to join us?” His voice went hard suddenly. “Don’t you want revenge, for all the wrongs, for all the pain? What about Aughrim, eh? What about that, the bodies left rotting on the fucking hills like trash.”

“No! What the fuck is the matter with you! I thought you fought in the war and knew what it was like when it all ended. Were you even _at_ Aughrim? Because I was, you fucking stupid shit, _I was_.” I jerked my arm out of Seán’s hand and just stared at him in incredulity. “Christ and the Virgin Mary and all the fucking saints in heaven. Why in the _hell_ would you ask someone to go back to that?”

There was a furious pause, and Seán said in a low growl, “I lost everything. _Everything._ And so did you. And why shouldn’t we take back what is ours?”

“_There’s nothing left to take back_. I can’t fucking believe this.” I raked my hands through my hair, trying to control their shaking. All I could see in my mind’s eye was oceans of blood that had covered the bog, the meadows and the hills, so much blood that it made the grass and ground too slippery to stand properly. And the dead in their thousands looking oddly serene and peaceful up on the hills, as if they were part of some horrific pastoral landscape. I remembered what it had been like, slipping and sliding my way through the puddles of gore and over the corpses in the dark, up and into the woods surrounding the battlefield, trying to find others to regroup with. Trying to avoid being killed or captured. Trying not to mind that I was absolutely fucking covered with the blood of people I didn’t know and would never know, as well as my own.

Then I realized what had been niggling at me. “I don’t remember seeing you there, but there were thousands of us, to be sure. But I certainly would have noticed your captain, he’s hard to miss, especially if he’s who he says he is. He wasn’t even there was he, he was sitting in France with the rest of those fucking bastards. That’s why his Gaeilge is such shit, isn’t it? A Frenchified O’Neill. I knew I had heard that accent before.” I laughed, and I barely recognized my voice. “Ah well, that’s quite a star you’ve tied yourself to, Seán. I commend you on your excellent taste.”

“Heh. Well, he _is_ who he says he is, Young Nick, after all. So you say all you like about that, but he’s a prince of the main branch. And, anyway, as if you’re one to talk, you with your English captain, doing his bidding like you’re his slave. Or maybe you are that, eh? Got a taste for English, now?” He curled his lip at me, and I knew I had drawn blood with saying O’Neill had been in France during the whole of the war.

I sneered. “Oh quite so, quite so, Seán. Although, oddly enough, my English captain isn’t trying to recruit me on a fool’s errand.”

“Oh, isn’t he then? Behold me, all apologies.” He bowed flawlessly. “I would have sworn he was.”

“Fuck it all. What the hell do you care?” I muttered at last. I crossed my arms, and looked back at the crowd of pirates and privateers. I wondered how much they had been able to hear of what we had said to each other.

“Well, someone has to, you stupid looby.” No one besides Seán ever spoke to me in just that tone of utterly exasperated affection.

I laughed again, but at least this time I felt a surge of our old fondness, hot under the collar though I still was.

I grabbed his arm, and he didn’t shake me off, though I could see he was still irate. I said, very earnestly, “Listen Seán, and I tell you this straight. I was there until the very end. I don’t know if you were there, at Limerick, but I was on one of the last ships to leave. There’s nothing to go back for, unless it’s to see your family.” I tried to think of words to make him understand what I knew to be truth. “Ireland is... is a woman who has been violated, with a boot heel crushing her throat. Nothing you do is going to change that—that’s the past. And anything you do is going to make it worse. There’s no way out.”

“Hmmph.” He fumbled in his pockets, and pulled out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. His Mam would have boxed his ears so hard, but I couldn’t help snickering a little watching him light it up. I remembered hidden, furtive experiments from when we were brats, me watching him all wide-eyed in fascination as he tried to light a pipe up and smoke it.

He waved it at me, aromatic smoke trailing in its wake. “I know. I know,” he sighed dramatically.

And just like that, we were friends again, clutching each other’s arms and doubled over laughing.

He drew on the pipe, and blew out a cloud. “I saw your Da, you know. And the twins,” he said suddenly. “At the Boyne. I was there. I wasn’t at Aughrim or Limerick. I am… I am sorry you were. I’ve heard… things... about that. I didn’t know that you had joined up. If anything, I always hoped you were still home, safe.” He rubbed his face hard with his hands. I knew what he was doing, trying to scrub his mind’s eye clear of the things he was remembering. “Well anyway. We talked for a bit, caught up on family news. They were all in good health, although tired. They had all fought some, I think, but I don’t know where. I lost them in the rout though, and never saw them after.”

“I haven’t heard from them either. I haven’t been able to find them.” I knew I must have sounded a bit lost.

“Your Mam?” he asked hesitantly, looking away. I shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had any illusions on that score.

“Ah well. I sent her letters when I could, but I never heard from her. Probably best for her that I left anyway.”

I paused and said, “I keep looking for Da and the twins whenever I see a group of Irish about, even here I keep looking. I didn’t really think I’d see them with your crew, I suppose, but you know. It’s the stupid sort of thing they’d love. Didn’t think I’d see you either, for all that. But I am glad I did.” I looked up and smiled crookedly at him.

He put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “If I see them, I’ll tell them, hey? That you’re looking for them.”

“Aye, and I for you also, Coz.”

“Are we good, then?” Seán looked off to the side, exhaling a cloud.

I was a little shocked. “Seán! That you have to ask me that! We’re more than friends, you know that, hey? Even if I think you are… well… Wrong. No way to wrap that up in clean linen, really. But that doesn’t change things for me, all right?” I looked into impossibly dark blue eyes, eyes that had made so many local maidens swoon in better times. We were the same height now; I had been much shorter than he was the last time I had seen him.

“Aye well. Same goes for me too. I suppose.” He grinned. “Even though you’re the one who is wrong.”

Then we laughed again together, and talked about old times, and it was like we had never parted.

**


End file.
